


Song of the Reaper

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Private detective Jensen Ackles is a cynic and believes he's seen the worst humanity has to offer until one night a dark haired beauty by the name of Genevieve walks into his office. The job, discover the truth behind the death of her fiancé Jared Padalecki, a local artist. The cops have labeled it a suicide, case closed, but she refuses to believe it. As Jensen digs into her fiancés mysterious past, he finds himself drawn into a world darker than he imagined, a world leading to a path of emotional self-destruction. After all—how can you fall in love with a dead man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Character death, supernatural elements, mentions of sexual abuse of a child (not detailed), explicit male/male sex, graphic violence and language, angst, suicide, homophobia, prostitution, and drug addiction. 
> 
> Originally written for the Supernatural J2 Big Bang Challenge 2011.
> 
> There are numerous inspirations for this story, but I’ll try to keep it to the minimum.
> 
> First thank you to killerweasel for helping me track down the music for the sound track and the beta work, I never knew puppy eyes could work via the phone. To my incredibly talented and humble artist winchesterxgirl who went above and beyond to create a face for this story. Her beautiful art is HERE as well as within the context of the story.
> 
> Aspects of my story found inspiration from two movies from completely different generations, 50 years apart. It turned out far better than I ever imagined. I’d like to give credit to those movies:
> 
> Crowfoot (1995 Tele-movie aired on FOX) Written by Donald P. Bellisario the creator of NCIS, Quantum Leap, and Magnum, P.I. among others
> 
> Laura (1944) starring Gene Tierney, Dana Andrews, & Vincent Price
> 
> And last but not least many thanks to wendy and thehighwaywoman for providing a place to allow our muses to wander.

 

Darkness, we all possess it in some quantity no matter how good of a person we believe we are. It slithers beneath our skin, flows through our veins, and thickens as if it were tar in our hearts. From darkness, secrets spring forth; tiny blind buds of green, fighting for air and water. Some die withering away, consumed by the same darkness from which they came and others…  
  
Well others just flit away into the ether on gossamer wings, riding the air currents across land and ocean and then one day they flit back into your life. Now though they have teeth, razor sharp, and a craving for blood.  
  
Sweet and thick as syrup on a stack of your mama’s buckwheat pancakes fresh out of the skillet, heat still rising to melt the butter. Except there’s a coppery bitter aftertaste and that alone is the thing those secrets crave. It doesn’t matter in the end what you want, they discover your dreams and desires only to devour them in their bottomless maws.  
  
That’s when it ends—or does it?

He stood on the edge of the cliff staring out at the gathering storm clouds blotting out the twilight and turning the early evening into the edge of midnight. It seemed nothing he did was right anymore. Despite his best efforts, his life was getting more difficult to navigate much like the churning waters below.

Their rhythmic song against the rocks far below mesmerized, soothing the ache in his chest, and seemed to call out from the salt trimmed froth they left behind especially for him. As the first drops of rain descended from the green-tinged darkness, he glanced up, eyes shut against the wind whipping his hair around his face. Lips parted he tipped back his head allowing the cold drops to tease his tongue with a faint tinge of salt or perhaps those were tears trailing down his face. Not that he would ever admit to crying. A real man didn’t cry, but then he wasn’t a real man—was he? That’s what his father had said the day he’d been kicked out of his home on a hot summer day in Texas at the tender age of seventeen.

As the years passed, he’d tried to make amends for his sins, eventually proving to his family that he didn’t need them. That was at least what he told himself. He justified his emancipation with college, a successful career as a graphic artist, and then there was Sandy. His beautiful dark haired angel who’d possessed enough strength for the both of them.  
  
If not for her and the love she’d given him, perhaps he would have been standing here sooner. She’d taken him in when he had nowhere else to turn, shown him how much he had to offer the world, and promised him she would never leave.

She’d lied, but who could blame her.  
  
Hands lifted as if in prayer, trembling fingers combed through his rain-soaked hair and he screamed into the darkness. Nothing mattered now. Everything he’d fought to build was beginning to crumble and he saw no way to keep the levee from breaking. If he did discover one though he was damned sure, it was too late to save it.  
  
His mama would have kicked his sorry ass for the thoughts drifting through his mind as he stood there, voice raised to the storm and raw with emotion he’d refused to acknowledge for far too long. After an eternity of screaming his shoulders slumped as his voice gave out at last. There was no answer to his cries, there never were simply because he couldn’t hear him.

He shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever, but he couldn’t help thinking this was the perfect spot. He should be at home getting ready for the party with Genevieve and the others. Tonight should have been a night for celebration, but instead it was a nightmare come to life. He’d ran for as long as he could remember, searching almost as long, and all he’d ever heard was the dark song awaiting him. Tonight he was going to run again, but not before he ended, what should have never began.

Reaching in his pocket, he pulled the letter free from the now soaked hoodie he wore; the ink was beginning to run from the rain, but it didn’t really matter. He hoped Genevieve could forgive him, but more than that, he prayed Sandy and all his friends would understand why he’d done it. It wasn’t something he’d ever imagined doing, not even in his darkest moments. Just the idea would have been alien to him not even 72 hours before yet after three days of contemplation it was the only answer.

Crushing the letter in his fist he headed for the edge of the cliff eyes locked on the distant horizon. When he was close enough to see the waves, he’d only heard before now, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry…”

The wind captured his words and lifted them on the cold air, spinning them around his head as if they were musical notes from an insane concerto.  
  
It had to end.  
  
Everything ended—right?


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re going to waste away to nothing if you don’t eat something.”

Jensen looked up from the mug of black coffee cradled between his palms and snorted at the sight greeting him. “Not hungry, sweetheart.”

“Really?” sitting the burger platter, heaped with fries and the fixings, down on the table, Alona dropped to the chair across from him. “When was the last time you ate?”

He lifted the mug and blew across the oily surface of the coffee eyeing the young waitress across the rim. “What are you my mother?”

She pushed a wild strand of honey gold hair behind one ear, eyes rolling in exasperation. “Someone has to be.”

“I have a mother. Her name is Donna and she lives in…”

“Yeah, I know…Texas. By the way, Jensen, this isn’t Texas. And I'm warning you if you don't eat the burger I’ll sic Jim onto your ass—Got it?” one slender eyebrow quirked up as she smirked.

Jensen glanced toward the counter and sighed when Jim, owner and cook of Lucille’s Diner, shook his fist, and then winked before disappearing into the kitchen. The last thing he needed was Alona and Jim tag teaming him. It had been a long week and all he wanted was coffee, a hot shower and then sleep—was that so much to ask?

“Don’t look so glum.” She flashed her pearly whites.

Jensen’s head shook, huff of laughter escaping in a puff of nicotine laced air. “Can I get it to go at least?”

She eyed him suspiciously, as she considered the request. “Fine, but if I find out you didn’t eat it…”

“I swear I’ll eat it.”

“Good.” Alona picked up the plate heading back to the counter, flounce in her step, and smile intact. “Besides, Jim would be pissed if he had to beat your cute ass.”

Shaking his head, Jensen watched her go and wondered when she’d get a clue about his sexuality. It wasn’t as if he hid the fact he was gay. He wasn’t a flaming queen, but he was damned sure she’d seen the way he looked at the men around them. There was a part of him always looking, searching for something, but he never seemed to be able to put his finger on it. It wasn’t as if he were a priest. He’d had plenty of encounters even relationships yet none of them could fill the emptiness that haunted him.

A Styrofoam container dropped down in front of him and he looked up into Jim’s concerned eyes. “Boy, you need to go get some sleep. You look like hell warmed over.”

“That’s the plan.” He lifted his mug and tossed back the last of the coffee, bitterness teasing his tongue. He reached inside his coat as he stood pulled out his wallet and handed Jim a twenty.

Jim waved him off. “Keep your money, kid. It ain’t good here and you know that.”

“Thanks, Jim.” He tucked the bill away and grabbed the container off the table. “See you in the morning?”

“Coffee will be waiting.”

When Jensen reached the door, he paused. Beyond the glass, he could see lightning in the distant night sky. It didn’t rain much in Los Angeles, but when it did, boy did it ever. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he stood there counting beneath his breath until the rumble of thunder reached his ears.

“There something wrong, Jensen?”

Jim never used his god given name unless he was worried.

He licked his lips nerves on edge with a suddenness that made him wonder what the hell was going on. A second flash of lightning illuminated the sky and he spotted what appeared to be a figure across the street, a fleeting glimpse of a shadow. When he looked again, there was nothing there.

“You ever get the feeling something is coming?”

“Like what?”

Jensen shook his head. “Never mind I’m just tired.”

Pushing open the door he headed out into the street as the first drops of rain began to spatter the pavement.

 

#

 

The shower didn’t help and neither had the food.

It was coming up on three am and Jensen found he couldn’t sleep. He slipped from beneath the sheets and padded across the floor to the adjoining office. Outside the storm was raging. With each flash of lightning, he felt as if he was going to jump from his skin every hair on his body standing on end.

Moving across the darkened office, he paused at the window behind the desk and pressed one hand against the rain-cooled glass. He’d been in Los Angeles since he’d been eighteen and over a decade later, he wondered what had happened to the happy kid with dreams of being a star. When acting had failed, he’d decided to join the police force, do something good with his life and things had started to look good. He’d been a beat cop when he met Jim, an ex-military man with a penchant for All-American food. They hadn’t met under the best of circumstances. He and his partner at the time, Morgan, were the first on the scene of an attempted robbery.

The first thing he’d seen as they entered the diner was Jim kneeling in the floor, hands covered in blood as he tried to plug the hole the bastard had put in his daughter’s chest. Mira had been the only thing Jim had left. Her mother had died in childbirth twenty years before and he’d raised the kid on his own. Jensen could still see the expression on Jim’s face as the paramedics had pulled him away from her, only to declare her dead minutes later. She’d been gone before she hit the floor, bullet puncturing her heart.

None of them reacted to Jim’s silent tears as they zipped his daughter into the body bag. Later Morgan told him if he didn’t learn to let go he’d never make it as a cop in LA. He’d decided then and there he couldn’t stand by and let things go. The next morning he’d turned in his resignation at the ripe old age of twenty-seven.

Six months later, he’d received his private investigator’s license and never looked back. In the end, he was the one who tracked down Mira’s killer and put a bullet in the bastard’s skull. Jim finally had closure and Jensen had a friend for life. 

Watching the condensation collect in a faint mist as he exhaled, one finger traced a heart on the glass although why he couldn’t say. A few seconds later, he turned away and sat in the chair behind his desk. He retrieved a bottle of JB and a single glass from behind the files in the bottom drawer. It was a truth in his life he drank too damn much, smoked, and rarely ate or slept anymore. Bad habits, but sometimes he needed to drown the darkness he’d come to know over the past six years. He knew what he did was a necessity after all the police could do only so much. It didn’t make it any easier.

Pouring two fingers of whiskey, he leaned back in the chair bare feet propped on the desk and closed his eyes. He brought the glass to his nose and inhaled, sting of the whiskey’s scent easing the tension in his body.

Jim was right. He needed to stop drinking so damn much, needed to get out, and have some fun. Easier said than done though, having fun was one thing, but finding a lasting relationship was another. Most of his one-night stands when they discovered he was a PI were tickled; fucking stars in their eyes. When the reality of what his life was like became clear though they ran for the hills.

He tipped back the glass taking a sip and relished the slow burn as it warmed him from the inside out. Despite his best efforts, nothing ever changed. He’d tried to fit into what society felt was appropriate; Danni was a prime example of that. All he’d managed was to break her heart and make a good friend hate him.

Then there was Tom.

Tom had been everything he believed he wanted; tall, nice body, dark hair, and eyes the color of cornflowers. He’d been smart and sexy all in one package. They’d managed almost two years before Tom had tired of the long nights without a warm body next to him and the alcohol. Tom had been all about the healthy and although he’d known Jensen was both drinker and smoker when they met like so many before he’d believed he could change Jensen into something he wasn’t. When his attempts failed, he’d walked away.

Tossing back the last of the whiskey his feet dropped to the floor. He sat the glass aside and stood to head back to his empty bed. As he passed the window, he stopped frown marring his brow. Glancing down at the rain-slicked street he waited until another flash of lightning lit up the city.

There, he thought.

Someone was standing in the alley across the street, a lone figure watching. The light faded and when the next flash lit up the sky like the Fourth of July the figure was gone. He released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding and shook off the creeping thought he was losing his mind.

Yeah, he definitely needed to stop drinking.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning dawned with the incessant ring of his cell and a headache that wouldn’t quit. Jensen opened his eyes bright sun streaming through the windows above his bed assaulting him and cursed as he blindly sought out the annoying buzz of the phone on the bedside table. Fingers curling around the vibrating nightmare, he opened one eye to see who had a fucking death wish this early in the morning. He didn’t recognize the number or the name attached.

Hitting the talk button, he growled, “JRA Investigations.”

There was a moment of silence and then a soft feminine voice came over the line. “Is this Jensen Ackles?”

“Speaking, who the hell wants to know?”

“You don’t know me, but Tom Welling gave me your name.”

Jensen’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise. “Tom Welling gave you my number?”

“Please, I know you and he didn’t part on such good terms, but I need your help. He says you’re the best in Los Angeles.”

All he could do was laugh ‘not good terms’ was the understatement of the year, yet he’d never expected Tom to send any business his way. Hell, he hadn’t seen the man in at least a year. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he sat up sheet sliding down his bare chest and reached for his smokes phone pinned between head and shoulder. “Okay, lady, you’ve got me hooked, but I don’t work for anyone without a name.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from the other end of the line and then her voice came through loud and clear. “My name is Genevieve—Genevieve Cortese. Can we meet?”

He squinted at the bedside clock—nine am. “Let’s say tonight, seven, my office.”

After a heartfelt thank you (girl seemed to be on the verge of tears) he gave her the address for his office and hung up. There was something familiar about her name and he was intrigued why Tom of all people would have sent her to him. Before he met with Ms. Cortese though, he had some serious research to do. Crushing the last of his morning cigarette out in the ashtray and he was out of bed and headed for the bathroom; quick hot shower, some coffee, and he’d be ready to go.

 

#

 

Jim glanced up as the bell jangled over the door grinning when he saw Jensen enter toting his laptop bag along with a stack of files. “You’re late, idgit!” he yelled from the kitchen window. “We’re all out of coffee, too!”

Rolling his eyes, Jensen worked his way through the lunch crowd to his usual seat, offering a wave to Alona who was busy taking orders. He knew he didn’t have to order anything. Before he settled in there would be a mug of black coffee in front of him. If any place in the world felt like home, it would be here. Despite the clatter of dishes and murmur of the crowd he seemed able to get far more work done here than his office.

He’d spent the majority of the morning at the LA County Library going through newspapers and typing up notes. Despite the advantages of technology, Jensen preferred libraries. The internet seemed so impersonal. Maybe it was the musty smell of books or the enforced silence. To his surprise, he discovered he had heard the name of his soon to be client.

Genevieve Cortese was the youngest daughter of shipping magnate, Julian Cortese, whose company headquarters was in Los Angeles. Julian had made his fortune the good old fashion way—hard work and a great deal of elbow grease. Married to Teresa Santiago for nearly forty years they had four children Isabella, Michael, Robert, and Genevieve. Julian’s two oldest worked for the old man at Cortese Shipping as well as sitting on the Board of Directors. The two youngest Genevieve and her twin brother Robert were more concerned with the LA party scene. That was until three months ago on Valentine’s weekend.

Six months prior Genevieve had become engaged to Jared Tristan Padalecki, self-made artist and transplant from Jensen’s home state of Texas. What few pictures he’d managed to find in the papers were snapshots of him on the move taken by paparazzi more concerned about Genevieve than some artist she’d hooked up with after a drunken night at one of the numerous nightclubs dotting LA’s landscape. Despite the lack of interest on the part of the paparazzi, it seemed Julian was quite happy with his daughter’s choice of future husband. No matter how much the society columns tried they could never get anything, but compliments toward the kid from his future father-in-law.

Then the Saturday night before Valentine’s Day, Jared vanished. Scheduled to be Genevieve’s escort for a huge shindig raising money for underprivileged kids he’d never shown. Julian had the police on a search the same night. It appeared Jared was not one to disappear without notifying someone, a man of integrity and punctuality.

Jensen stared at the screen of his laptop where an article from the Sunday Los Angeles Times showed a weeping Genevieve supported by her brother Robert on one side and Tom on the other as she was escorted to the police station for questioning the night of Jared’s disappearance. All three were dressed for a black tie affair and Jensen wondered exactly how Tom knew Genevieve. They’d been together for nearly two years and he’d never mentioned knowing the daughter of one of the richest men in the country.

“What’re you doing?”

He glanced up as Alona sat sliding a cup of fresh coffee across the table.

“I’m working on some research.”

“You have a case?”

He could hear the barely suppressed excitement in her voice as she leaned over trying to catch a glimpse of the laptop’s screen. He snapped it shut and her lower lip pushed out in a childish pout.

“Come on, Jen, let me see.”

He sighed in frustration. “Look, Al, I know you think my job is all fun and games, but it’s not. Besides, I haven’t met with the client yet and even when I do there’s a PI code.”

From behind the counter, Jim’s gruff voice carried through the crowd. “Girl, you need to leave that man alone and get your butt back to work. Don’t pay you to harass the customers.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming old man!” she stood and disappeared behind the counter.

Jensen had to laugh. There was no doubt Jim loved Alona as a father although he’d be hard-pressed to admit it. Her father and Jim were old army buddies and when she decided to head to LA with stars in her eyes he’d promised to keep an eye on her much to her chagrin. He was glad for her presence though in Jim’s life. If held at gunpoint, he’d admit he was better for knowing her as well. She’d smoothed over the jagged edges of the hole left in Jim’s soul after the loss of Mira. Nothing would ever fill the hole, but Alona managed to heal it a bit with her goofy smile and sparkling eyes.

Turning his thoughts back to the pending case, he flipped through the numerous tabs he’d opened and began to scan the articles. Two days after Jared’s disappearance, they’d discovered his truck 160 miles north-west of Los Angeles parked on the bluffs overlooking San Luis Bay near the San Luis Obispo lighthouse. There was a letter left behind apologizing to his friends and family for what he needed to do. The local police had assumed it was a suicide note and LA’s finest didn’t argue. Why the hell he would’ve driven over a hundred miles to kill himself didn’t make a lick of sense, but then Jensen was simply scratching the surface. For all he knew Genevieve was simply concerned with a lost dog or a piece of stolen jewelry and not a dead fiancé.

You never knew with spoiled little rich girls who had nothing better to do than party all night and spend daddy’s money as if it were water evaporating on a hot summer’s day. Then again, he might have the wrong idea about Julian Cortese’s baby girl.

He’d find out tonight.

 

 

Returning to the office, Jensen discovered visitors waiting and he wasn’t fucking happy in the least. Sam Ferris, landlord and overbearing mother figure, was chatting with Chris and Steve in the hall outside his door. The last thing he needed today was those three mothering his ass. Although, Chris’ version of mothering was getting as drunk as possible and grabbing anything within reach male or female. That led to Steve kicking his drunken ass for eyeballing someone other than him. On second thought no mothering of any kind today.

He tried to duck back around the corner, but Chris spied him over Sam’s shoulder and he groaned, slumping against the wall.

“Jensen, what the hell man? I saw you so cut the shit and come out!”

He flinched at how fucking loud Chris could be, but there was no use in prolonging the inevitable. Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and shifted his messenger bag over his shoulder heading around the corner. “Hey, Chris.” he nodded in Steve’s direction and walked straight to Sam who gave him the hairy eyeball.

“Rent?”

You wouldn’t think a single word could say so much. Sam Ferris though was one tough assed broad. He had no doubt she could kill with one well-aimed glare and he had no desire for her to aim it at him.

“Sam, I know I’m a couple of days…”

Hand on hip, one finger waving in his face she snorted. “Try two weeks late, boy. Do I need to remind you rent is due on the first of every month?”

Jensen could face a lot of things; a pissed off Sam was not one of those. “Look, I have a client and the retainer could cover this month and next. Just give me a few hours.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was going to smack or kick him. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and lowered his eyes to the floor trying to ignore the two men who whispered a few feet away. Her head tipped to the side and she studied him for a few seconds before an unexpected smile softened the lines of her face.

“You play hardball, Ackles.”

For the first time in days, he smiled. “Don’t have a clue what you mean, Sam.”

She stepped into his personal space, chuckling and patted his shoulder. “You keep working on that poker face of yours, kid. I swear since you showed up on my doorstep you ain’t been anything but a pain in my ass.”

As she brushed by, heading for the lift he winked at Chris. “You still love me though don’t you, Mom?”

Sam didn’t stop or look back, simply flipped him the bird, and vanished around the corner. All three men held their breath until the sound of the lift descending reached their ears. Seconds after laughter exploded into the silence left behind by her departure. They laughed until they were breathless cheeks wet with tears.

The first to catch their breath, Steve leaned against the wall, wild blonde hair hiding his flushed face. “Jen, one of these days she isn’t going to fall for those big emo-eyes of yours and her boot is going to end up in your ass.”

“Emo-eyes?” next to Steve, Chris grunted in disgust, “Dude, what the fuck?”

Headed for the office door, Jensen chuckled. “You’re both idiots. You do realize that—right?”

“Oh, come on, Jenny-boy, you need to relax.” Chris flung one muscled arm around his shoulders as he unlocked the door. “Life’s to fucking short to have a permanent stick in your ass.”

“What I need is you rabble-rousers to take a hike. I have a client coming in…” he popped the door glancing at his watch. “Shit, an hour! Either you help clean up or get out of my way.” Pushing through the door, he dropped his bag on the desk, and headed to the studio next door. When he reached the door, he glanced back with a smirk. “So, what the hell are you waiting for? Start cleaning or get out.”

As he closed the door, Chris flipped him the bird. “You need to get laid, jackass!”

Steve’s laughter echoed through the office followed by Chris cussing a blue streak.

 

#

 

By the time, Jensen showered and dressed, another three cups of black coffee fortifying him for the meeting his office was spotless. Steve and Chris were setting enjoying a beer, looking for the world, as if they belonged there. He did love his friends, but he really didn’t need them here.

“Guys, great job, now scat!”

Chris glanced up, booted feet propped on his desk. “The hell you say. We’re not leaving you here with a client and your hang-dog expression.”

“Chris.” Steve warned as Jensen aimed an evil glare in Chris’ direction. “Maybe you need to let it go.”

“Yeah, what he says, dude.” Jensen crossed the room knocking Chris’ feet off his desk.

Fingers tightening around his long neck, Chris stood eyes narrowed. “Screw what Steve says. I’m tired of you burying yourself in work. Tom and you have been done for—what?—eight months. It’s time to get off the pot, wipe your ass, and get a life.”

“It’s been a year.” He corrected Chris. “So says the man; who drives his partner nuts with constant flirting. Let me tell you something. I’m over Tom. He has nothing to do with my choices…”

“Bullshit!” Chris snapped moving in close, head tipped back as he looked up at Jensen. “Tom has everything to do with it. You fucked up and now you want to punish yourself.”

Hands clenching Jensen inhaled. “Steve, you need to get your puppy on a leash. I don’t have time for this shit.”

Steve stepped between them and grabbed Chris’ chin directing his fiery gaze away from Jensen. “Man, come on. Jen’s got business to take care of and I think we need to put the pissing match on hold until he takes care of it.”

“Fine!” he spit out and stomped around Jensen straight for the office door.

Steve followed with a put upon glance.

As they reached the door, Chris turned and pointed one finger at Jensen. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this discussion though.”

“Never crossed my mind,” Jensen smirked.

After the door closed behind them, he dropped to the chair with a sigh. God, he needed a drink, but it was going to have to wait until he met with Ms. Cortese.


	4. Chapter 4

Right on cue, a sharp knock came from the direction of the door. Jensen glanced over, noting the shadow beyond the frosted glass.

“Come in.”

The door swung open and a young woman entered, dark hair cascading around her shoulders and hips swaying. Smaller than he expected, she teetered on delicate four inch heels, slinky black silk dress barely grazing the top of well-shaped thighs, skin tanned and smooth. Jensen was willing to bet his retainer she had no tan lines.

He stood and stepped around the desk accepting her extended hand. Her nails were perfect, French manicured, lips painted cherry red, and she smelled of vanilla with a hint of citrus. “Ms. Cortese, I presume.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ackles.” Smoky eyes studied him for a moment and then she slipped her hand from his. “I’m glad you were able to fit me into your busy schedule.”

Jensen waved her to the chair across from the scarred wooden desk and for a second her nose wrinkled before she dusted it off and settled down. He would have laughed at the clear disgust in her eyes as she glanced around the room if he wasn’t desperate for money. “Just finished a case up.” he leaned back in the chair, nonchalant, arms crossed over his chest. “Schedule was clear.”

“Oh.” Genevieve turned to face him, lips pursed in what he assumed was her idea of a seductive pout. When he didn’t fall for her attempts to capture his attentions, her attitude shifted from sexy seductress to all business. “I’m unsure if you know who…”

“Youngest daughter of Julian Cortese, shipping magnate.” he didn’t miss a beat.

She laughed although the sound held no amusement. “I see Thomas was right about you—all business.”

“Tom would know.”

With a faint sniff, she reached into the Chanel bag sitting on her lap. “If you know who I am, Mr. Ackles, then, I assume you know why I’m here.”

His fingers itched, eyes never leaving her hand as she pulled a manila folder from inside the bag, laying it on the desk to slide toward him. She leaned back, legs crossing and he caught a glimpse of the lace at the top of her thigh highs. Fingers curling around the folder he pulled it closer and noted the emblem at the top—LAPD case file.

“How did you get your hands on this?”

Lowering her head, hair falling around her face she offered a secretive smile and reached in her bag, pulling out a rhinestone-encrusted cigarette case. His eyes traced her movements as she flipped it open and removed a dark, slim cigarette, his nose twitching at the strong scent of cloves.

“I have my ways.” Her lips parted as she slipped the cigarette between them.

He stood and leaned across the desk, silver lighter in hand, and flicked it open the flame coming to life. Smile still in place she leaned forward, silk sliding over the swell of her breasts revealing the lacey edge of a push-up bra. He raised one eyebrow and snapped his lighter shut as she leaned back tip of the cigarette glowing.

“Check out the file. LA’s finest at their stupidest.” She tipped her head back and exhaled a stream of smoke.

Settling in his seat, he pocketed the lighter and opened the file. On the top was a full color, professional photo of Genevieve and a young man he recognized as Jared, but this time he could appreciate the man. Gods, he was gorgeous in an unconventional exotic way.

Brunette hair, thick and luxurious, fell nearly to his shoulders. His face was an inverted triangle with high forehead, sharp cheekbones and it narrowed down to a point. His nose started out narrow and broadened out, reminding him of a cat, and his eyes were almost Asiatic. The one thing that caught Jensen’s attention most though was despite Genevieve’s brilliant smile Jared didn’t seem as happy. Sure, he was smiling and there was a hint of dimples, but something reminded him of a trapped animal in the guy’s eyes.

“So, this is the elusive Jared Padalecki.”

“Elusive?”

He looked up from the file and met Genevieve’s gaze. “Yes, elusive. Seems the paparazzi weren’t as interested in your fiancé as they were in you, Ms. Cortese.”

“Fuck the paparazzi!” she snapped taking another drag from her cigarette. “Lower than pig shit as far as I’m concerned. They’re always pushing their noses where they don’t belong, Mr. Ackles.”

It was the first time she’d shown any honest emotion since walking into his office and Jensen found it telling. Perhaps, he’d been wrong on his initial assumption she was a shallow bitch who should go find her next sad little boy toy. She seemed to, in all honesty, care for the guy.

“You won’t find an argument here.”

Sliding the photo aside, Jensen skimmed the initial missing person’s report. The report was standard issue, nothing standing out as unusual. “Ms. Cortese, was Jared acting strange in any way prior to his disappearance?”

“No.” her answer was a bit too quick for his taste. “We usually saw one another or spoke at least once a day. Jared was a private person, but he enjoyed going out, watching people. It was hard for him to be with me sometimes…” her voice cracked.

“The paparazzi—right?” he flipped to the next page, Genevieve’s statement the day of Jared’s disappearance.

“Yes. He wasn’t used to the constant attention.”

Jensen skimmed her statement to the detective in charge of the case, a Misha Collins. She’d stated they’d spent the previous night together and he’d left around 6 am to work in his studio outside the city in the hills. They’d spoke via cell, around 1 pm when she’d asked if he wanted to join her for lunch. Jared had declined telling her he was elbow deep in a commission he’d been working on for a couple of weeks. She hadn’t spoken to him again after that call.

“I’ll need to speak to your family and friends. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all, Mr. Ackles, I’ve asked everyone to cooperate, but they seem to think I’m crazy. Jared’s family had a memorial service already. They’ve accepted what the police said although I think Megan might be less accepting than the others.”

Jensen looked up at her soft confession. “Megan?”

“Megan is his younger sister. She lives in Dallas works as a corporate attorney. After what happened, she came to LA and decided to keep his studio intact. She’s been flying up every other weekend, going through his things.”

He nodded, lower lip sucked between his teeth, and his attention drifted back to the glossy photo. Something had him wondering about a family who would let a young man like Jared slip from between their fingers so easy. Turning back to the file, he flipped through the remaining pages; a copy of the report from the San Luis police, along with crime scene photos, more interviews with Jared’s friends (what few there were) and then he noticed something.

“There’s no autopsy report here.” He glanced up from beneath his lashes.

Genevieve’s face went white. “You didn’t discover that part did you?”

“What part?” he frowned at her expression. What could be so upsetting she looked as if she were going to be sick?

She cleared her throat, unable to look at him now, words obviously stuck in her throat and refusing to come out. It was then it dawned on him why she was having such a hard time accepting the death of her fiancé.

“They never found his body—did they?”

A sob escaped her lips as she met his steady gaze eyes filled with unshed tears and nodded. What a load of crap. He thought. As far as he was concerned, LAPD had dropped the ball on this one—no body and a haphazard investigation at best. He was going to have a long talk with Detective Collins.

“Ms. Cortese, I’ll be happy to take your case.”

Relief washed over her face as the tears fell at last. “Thank you, Mr. Ackles. You don’t know how much this means. Everyone thought I was crazy and it’s a relief to have someone who doesn’t finally.”

He stood flipping the case file shut. “You need to understand something though before I start. Jared may still be dead, but at the hands of someone you know instead of his own.”

Eyes going wide she shook her head. “That’s not possible everyone loved Jared. He didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“Sometimes, sweetheart, you don’t know people the way you think you do. Sometimes your best friend could be the death of you.”


	5. Chapter 5

After Genevieve’s departure, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey and eyed the cashier’s check for ten grand. The retainer she offered was far more than he would have asked for himself, but he wasn’t one to argue if she were willing to pay it. Unscrewing the lid, he took a deep pull on the half-empty bottle burn of the alcohol clearing his head.

He’d seen some stupid shit in his life, but the cops marking Jared Padalecki’s supposed death as a suicide with no body to be found was a first-class fuck up. Bottle dangling from his fingers he picked up the glossy photo of the happy couple again and studied it with narrowed eyes. Despite what Genevieve believed Jared hadn’t been happy. How someone couldn’t see the desperate need to escape in his hazel eyes was beyond Jensen’s comprehension. He dropped the photo back on the stack of papers and took another swig from the bottle in his hand.

What he’d said to Genevieve hadn’t been a joke. In his experience, even a person’s best friend could be someone they didn’t really know. If Jared was dead—which everything pointed to—then there was a very big chance he’d been the victim of someone he knew. That left everybody from Genevieve’s father to Jared’s best friend open as a candidate for possessing blood stained hands.

Tucking away the bottle in his desk drawer, Jensen stood and collected the file along with his jacket. Outside the sun was starting to descend and the shadows were growing long in the fading light. Detective Collins would be starting his shift and Jensen needed to begin with him. Getting to the station before he slipped out was Jensen’s first priority.

#

Pulling into the underground parking garage of the Beverly Hills station, Jensen cut the engine of his beloved Impala. He’d had the car since he was sixteen. Hell, he’d driven to LA in her. It would be sad to most people to know the one solid thing in his life for the past 17 years was his car. They’d been through a lot he and his girl and that was an understatement.

He ran one hand over the dashboard and grinned. “Well, girl, here goes nothing. Don’t you go running off on me—okay?”

Yeah, it might be sad to some people, but then they didn’t know his baby. He pushed the door open and exited the car, locked the door, and set the alarm. He might be in Beverly Hills, but he still didn’t trust the people any further than he could throw them. Besides his baby was cherry courtesy of a great deal of work and money and could fetch a pretty price if sold to the right person.

With a final glance over his shoulder he laughed. When he and Tom had been together his bitching had been incessant when it came to the Impala. Bastard claimed Jensen loved the car more than he loved him. Turned out he was right.

Moving to the elevator, the hair at the base of his skull prickled. It was the same feeling he’d been getting since last night when he’d left Jim’s diner. He was positive someone was following him. Turning he glanced into the quite shadows of the garage. Nothing, at least nothing he could see, but that didn’t mean shit. He reached beneath his jacket and unsnapped his shoulder holster, eyes searching the darkness. Whoever was following him would be an idiot to try anything in a police station. He shook off the eerie chill creeping up his spine and headed for the elevator. Then he heard it—faint footsteps as if someone were following close behind him.

Turning again, he drew his gun and eyed the shadows. “I know you’re there.”

He swore he heard a sigh.

Maybe he was imagining things, he thought. Being in this business could shake the stoutest man to the foundations of his soul. Then again, he could be right and someone was there; watching and waiting, but for what he had no idea.

He slipped his gun back into the holster and turned his back to whatever or whoever was lurking behind him. There wasn’t enough time in the day to be playing games. He reached the elevator and punched the button for the third floor. The doors opened seconds later for which he was eternally grateful. As he stepped on the elevator, he turned and from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed movement. A shadow, tall and slender, moving along the floor and up across the wall. His hand shot out stopping the door from closing and he stepped back out into the garage. The sound of soft footsteps echoed through the open space fading away as he searched for any sign of the source.

Standing in the doorway, he released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It was one thing to get the feeling someone was watching it was something different to see shadows and hear footsteps. Now, there was no doubt in his mind someone was following him. If not for the fact he’d only met Genevieve today, he would have believed it connected to the case. Then again, she’d said her friends and family knew she was coming to see him and maybe one of them didn’t want him to discover the truth.

He stepped back into the elevator and watched the doors slide shut with a whoosh. It was nearing eight-thirty and he knew he was going to be cutting it close. He’d given Morgan his ex-partner a quick call on the way over to ask if he happened to know Misha Collins. Morgan hadn’t been able to tell him a great deal other than Collins had taken some serious heat from the press over the Padalecki case. He had a theory though and Jensen had been more than willing to listen.

Misha Collins was originally from the East Coast, Massachusetts or some shit, and he’d been Ivy League educated. Recruited by the FBI straight out of college, he worked in the BSU for five years before resigning, and no one seemed to know for sure why he’d resigned, although rumors abounded. Money was on the fallout from his last case with the BSU. He’d moved to Los Angeles five years before taking a position with the LAPD. Until the Padalecki case, he’d had a sterling record, and then people started talking inside the department about politics and hidden agendas.

Jensen was well aware of how politics worked. He’d thanked Morgan for the scoop and wondered if maybe there was more to Jared Padalecki than met the eye. He pulled from his thoughts when the door opened onto the third floor and the world came back into focus. He stepped off the elevator and checked the listings for the offices.

Collins….315

Tapping his finger on the glass, he grinned. Here was hoping Detective Collins was cooperative when he knocked on the door. Heading down the hallway, he could feel numerous eyes tracking him on his quest to find 315. He was used to the stares even the hateful glances from the cops around him.

To them Jensen Ackles was a well-known and necessary evil even if they hated to admit it. He was able to do things they couldn’t without breaking the laws they’d sworn to uphold and protect the moment shiny badges were handed out. Some of them knew he’d been a cop before telling the LAPD to stick their badge where the sun didn’t shine. Didn’t take a genius to figure out where that was; there were few places the sun didn’t shine in LA. Others looked on him as if he were a thorn in their side. Either way it didn’t matter jack-shit to Jensen since he wasn’t concerned with what they thought. There was too damn much of that touchy feely crap going on for his taste in this fucking city.

He came to a stop outside 315 and took a deep breath before raising one fisted hand to announce his arrival with a brisk knock. What sounded like an invitation or might have been a grunt came from behind the door. Jensen took it as an invitation since the word fuck-off was not forthcoming.

What he’d expected, he wasn’t sure, but this wasn’t it.

Detective Misha Collins stood behind his desk, back to the door as Jensen entered. He was slight built not standing as tall Jensen, his dark hair along with his clothes looked as if he’d just rolled from bed. When he turned, it was apparent the guy hadn’t slept or shaved in awhile, two days worth of scruff covering his lower jaw. His eyes, a vivid shade of blue, held a sharpness of mind one wouldn’t have expected from his bedraggled appearance.

“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Ackles. Have a seat.” He waved at the two chairs in front of his desk and turned back to the window.

Jensen’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he closed the door and took a seat. “How did you know my name?”

“Ms. Cortese called about a half hour ago and told me she’d hired the best private dick in the state.” there was a bitter edge to the way he said dick as if he were calling names instead of professions. “Damn girl can’t seem to let the whole cluster-fuck go.”

“I’m guessing you’re referring to the less than professional investigation of her fiancé’s disappearance.”

“Don’t you mean suicide?” Misha corrected as he turned back to Jensen and settled in his chair.

A faint snort escaped Jensen. “You say po-tay-toe. I say po-tah-toe.”

“Very funny.” eyes narrowing Misha leaned over the desk on his elbows, scruffy jaw supported against the heels of his hands. “She didn’t say you were a comedian as well.”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth curved in a smirk. “There’s a lot she doesn’t know about me including the fact I’m beginning to wonder who Padalecki pissed off. Cause your idea of a suicide doesn’t set right in my gut.”

It was Misha’s turn to smirk as he leaned back in the chair, hands folded behind his head. “Let’s cut to the chase, Ackles. She hired you to investigate what amounts to a closed case.”

“How can you close a case without a body, Detective Collins?”

Misha chuckled. “You happen to see that huge body of water to our west by the name of the Pacific? Kid threw himself over a cliff in San Luis, left a suicide note in his truck.”

“Tell me something, Collins.”

“What?”

“If he did kill himself, why do it? What possible fucking reason did he have to make with a swan dive into the ocean blue? He had a successful career, gorgeous fiancée and an intimate circle of friends from what I’ve seen so far.”

“Simple answer—drugs and prostitution.”

He hadn’t expected an answer from Collins especially considering Genevieve hadn’t mentioned Jared being in any trouble with the law. He rolled the idea over repeatedly in his mind and it just didn’t stick. Jensen shook his head. “How the hell could a guy with a record get on the good side of Julian Cortese?”

“I didn’t say he had a record in Los Angeles.”

“Then why are we talking about drugs and prostitution?”

Misha stood and crossed the room opening the top drawer of the file cabinet in the corner. He removed a thick file and moved back to the desk with a pensive expression. “I shouldn’t even be showing you this, but I’m fucking tired of the shit passing for justice in this world.” Hand held out he met Jensen’s curious gaze. “Go ahead take it.”

He accepted the file, knot forming in his gut. Collins was being honest about his feelings Jensen didn’t doubt it. Flipping it open, the first thing he saw was a faded police mug shot of a younger version of Jared. One eye swollen half-shut, lip split and the same haunted look in his eyes Jensen had noticed in the photo Genevieve had given him. He skimmed the file and the knot continued to grow.

In 2000, during a raid by the Corpus Christi police in conjunction with the DEA and the FBI, arrested for prostitution, Jared had been barely eighteen. He’d had both heroin and marijuana in his blood, along with a blood alcohol level that had come close to killing him. The kid had been a mess. How he’d come to be on the streets in the hands of a crass drug lord by the name of Fred Lane was a mystery. Jared had ended up in the hospital for the numerous injuries he suffered at the bastard’s hands. He refused to talk about his past, but he’d agreed to cooperate with the investigators and Lane found himself rotting in the high security US Penitentiary in Beaumont, Texas.

After the trial, the Feds offered to place Jared in the Witness Protection program so he could start fresh. He’d declined. The only reason he gave was he was tired of hiding. Jensen was curious why he’d been hiding in the first place. That is if you could consider prostituting on the street for scum like Lane as hiding.

He glanced up at Collins who leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “Is this for real?”

“Yeah, it is. Kid, was forced to do drugs and well…”

Collins left the rest unspoken and Jensen was grateful for it. From what he’d read so far Jared had suffered more by the age of eighteen than most saw in a lifetime. It nauseated him. He wondered if Julian Cortese had known about his future son-in-law’s past and if so why he hadn’t told his daughter.

“Can I keep this?” he stood eying Collins for any odd reactions to his request. For all he knew this was a load of horseshit concocted by the powers so they could stamp case closed on the kid’s death.

Waving him off with one hand, Collins walked back to the window with a sigh. “Go for it, Ackles. Hope it helps you more than it did me.”

As Jensen opened the door, the detective cleared his throat, and he paused. “Is there something else?”

“Find the bastard that killed him. After what he went through the kid didn’t deserve to die.”

#

By the time, he hit the street, Impala’s engine roaring beneath him the sun had vanished. Its passing left the smog riddled sky a deep violet edged with a burnt orange as night descended. He wasn’t sure what he’d discover talking to Detective Collins when he’d walked into his office. Now, he wasn’t sure what to do with the information Collins had handed over.

He reached over and turned the radio on, low hum of the music easing the creeping tension in his body. It would make sense if Lane were trying to get revenge on the guy who’d sent him to prison. Why the hell wait ten years though? Ten years was a long time to wait to seek vengeance in his humble opinion especially when it came to drug lords.

Fingers drumming against the wheel in time with the music, Jensen considered his next move. He needed to go home catch up on some sleep and start fresh in the morning. Except one thing, if he didn’t show at the Bayou Club, hook up with Steve and Chris he’d never hear the end of it. Chris could hold a grudge like a son of a bitch and he so didn’t need to be on his bad side right now.

Swiping one hand through his hair, he turned the car around. One beer, he told himself, just one beer and besides it was worth keeping his own personal monkey off his back. 

#

The Bayou Club was off the beaten track, hidden away in what had once been an industrial section of downtown Los Angeles in the 1920’s prior to the Great Depression. A simple sign hung over the two double oak doors and there were no windows or neon, although the sign, trimmed in twinkling white lights, reminded Jensen of a Christmas tree. To the left was the parking lot and as usual it was packed to the gills. Thank the gods, Steve insisted on having back up parking across the street.

Running across the street, Jensen darted around a fire hydrant, and to the front door pushing it open. The moment the door open the music hit him like a brick wall, a grin curling his lips.

Amy was on stage tonight.

For such a tiny thing, Amy was a spitfire, as his Grandpa back in Texas would say not to mention the set of pipes on her. He glanced up at the stage and his grin widened as he spotted her perched on top of the piano that always sat there. Steve sat on the bench playing, fingers gliding over the keys. Jensen recognized the song, his eyes drifting shut as he allowed her voice to glide over his skin.

You're my thrill, you do something to me  
You send chills right through me when I look at you  
'Cause you're my thrill

You're my thrill, how my pulse increases  
I just go to pieces when I look at you  
'Cause you're my thrill

Nothing seems to matter  
Here's my heart on a silver platter  
Where's my will? Why this strange desire?

That keeps mounting higher…  
Something about the song always got to him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. As the song came to a finish, Amy’s voice trailing off the entire room exploded in righteous applause. He opened his eyes and took in the way she absorbed the applause. Amy belonged on the stage, her elegant grace, brilliant smile and a voice that would make Billie Holiday proud.

“So you decided to drop by.”

He turned offering Chris a grin. “I didn’t want to hear you bitching for the rest of eternity.”

“You won’t get an argument from me.”

“Rough day?”

Jensen shrugged. “You could say that.”

Following Chris through the crowd, he inhaled the scent of smoke, perfume, and wood polish. Chris and Steve had bought the building around the same time he’d quit the police department and over the years had transformed it into the only decent music club in LA as far as he was concerned. It reminded him of the smoky bars he’d hung out in as a kid. Yeah, he was a city boy, born and raised, but first and foremost, he was a Texan. His dad had met his mom in a place like this, years ago, when having fun meant loading up the car and going to the nearest roadhouse for live music and good whiskey.

As a kid, he and his buddies would sneak out and hit the road to places like the Bayou and that was how he’d met Chris and Steve. Later when they’d headed to LA, he’d decided he wanted to follow example. Didn’t make his mom happy, but his dad was a whole different story.

Reaching the table near the stage, Amy greeted Jensen by jumping into his arms and laying a big wet one on him. She pulled back, flashed a million dollar smile at him and ruffled his hair. “How’s my sunshine doing?”

“Same as always…” he rolled his eyes as she slipped from his arms with a distraught sniff.

“So haven’t decided to visit the other side of the fence yet?”

Chris snorted as she aimed a glare in his direction. He tipped his head back whistling to himself and ignored the fact Steve was on the verge of busting a gut.

“What is it with petite blondes and me? Amy, I love you, but you’re not really my type. I prefer tall brunettes.”

“Like that one,” Chris piped up earning another glare from Amy.

Jensen followed the direction of Chris’ gaze and focused on the man across the club standing near the front door. He nearly swallowed his tongue.

It was impossible—wasn’t it?

He started toward the figure Chris’ strong grip stopping him in his tracks. “What the fuck, man?”

“Relax, Jen. Just because I point out the perfect woman doesn’t mean you have to…”

Jensen shrugged him off. “What woman? I thought you were talking about the guy by the door.”

Chris’ eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. “What guy?”

Focusing on the spot by the door, he realized it was now empty. “Shit.” He grunted before taking off across the club ducking, diving, and in some cases nearly running people down. He barreled through the front doors out into the warm spring night panting for breath as he came to a halt next to the fire hydrant. Stepping out into the edge of the street, he looked both ways. There was no sign of the man he’d seen in the club, but he wasn’t willing to accept that.

Heading up the sidewalk at a steady jog, face flushed, Jensen peered around corners and into alleyways, between parked cars and in empty doorways. Nothing, not a damn thing anywhere not that he’d expected to find anything. Turning he headed back toward the club frustrated and out of breath. First, the feeling of being watched then the footsteps and shadows. Now he’d seen something he couldn’t have seen. At least according to LA’s finest, it was impossible.

As he approached the door, he saw his friends gathered on the stoop staring at him with a mix of worry and amusement. Not that he could blame them. He’d taken out of there as if his ass were on fire. God help him. Maybe he was losing his mind.

Steve always the one with the biggest balls approached him while the other two hovered in the background along with a few customers. “Hey, Jen, what the hell was that about?”

He shook his head.

“Come on man, talk to me.”

Jensen looked up at Steve face white as a ghost.

“Jesus, dude, what’s wrong?” Steve’s eyes went wide.

“You’re never going to believe me.”

“Try me, man.”

He inhaled sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t get Steve or any of the others involved. This was his job and his alone. If for some reason he was cracking under the pressure at last…well that was for him to deal with.

“Jensen, man, you’re scaring me.”

He glanced around the street one last time. “Steve, I’m either losing my mind or…”

“Losing your mind or what?”

“I saw a dead man in your club.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Are you serious, Jen?”

Jensen’s gaze travelled up from the beer bottle he’d been carefully peeling to Chris’ intense blue gaze. He’d seen that look before, one hundred percent pure blatant disbelief. “No, I thought I’d give you all an early Halloween gift, asshole. Of course I’m fucking serious!”

Turning away Chris began pacing the floor, knuckles popping and looked for the world as if he were in search of something to punch. Steve leaned forward over the coffee table his hand settling over Jensen’s gripping the beer bottle so hard he was surprised it hadn’t shattered yet. They’d decided to retire to the flat above the club where Steve and Chris lived after Jensen had proclaimed he’d seen a dead man.

“That meeting you had earlier tonight? Does it have anything to do with this dead man you think you saw?”

Jensen pulled away in an attempt to hide the faint tremors running through his body from Steve. “Hell, dude, you know I can’t tell…”

“Bullshit!” Chris snapped. “We’re your best friends! You know you can trust us!”

Steve glanced at Chris from the corner of his eye. “You are not helping things.”

“Helping what—my best friend believes he’s the fucking Ghost Whisperer? Hate to break it to you Steve, but Jen hasn’t got the tits to pull off Jennifer Love-Hewitt’s role.”

Looking back up from the beer bottle in his hands, Jensen snarled. “Not a fucking person in here said anything about talking to ghosts. So just cut the shit, Chris.”

Chris snorted. “Hey, you’re the asshole who brought up dead men in my club.”

“Our club,” Steve corrected eyes boring a hole through Chris before turning back to Jensen. “You know you can trust us—right?”

Shrugging Jensen returned his attention back to the half-peeled label on his beer.

“That had better be a yes.” Chris yelled as he headed to the kitchen in search of more beer. “Especially after all the shit we’ve been through, man.”

“Look, I’m working something involving one of the most powerful families in California, hell the country. The last damn thing I need is for anything to leak out to the press about it—okay?”

Steve leaned back into the plush suede cushions of the sofa, eyes never leaving Jensen’s bowed head. “Talk to us before Chris pops a fucking aneurysm. Nothing you say tonight will leave this room.”

“Padalecki.”

“Bless you.”

Jensen’s eyes narrowed and if looks could have killed, Chris would be on the floor bleeding. “I didn’t sneeze…it’s a name, jackass.”

“I recognize the name.”

They both turned eyeing Steve with suspicion. Jensen hadn’t expected either of them to recognize it, but then it was an unusual name and Steve was good with names, it was the reason he dealt with the vendors at the club.

“You do?” Chris raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah, he was an artist and he was…” Steve stopped mid-thought eyebrows lifting.

“What?” there was no way Jensen was continuing until he knew how much Steve knew. Repeating himself would be redundant.

“Cortese…he was engaged to Julian Cortese’s daughter.”

Chris dropped on the sofa, handing fresh beers all around. He popped the cap and took a deep pull off his own before leaning forward. “Julian Cortese? For real, Jen, are you working for Julian? He’s one bad motherfucker. You don’t want to screw around with someone like that—just saying.”

“Not him.” Jensen opened his own beer, nearly downing the entire thing before wiping his hand across his mouth. “His daughter Genevieve hired me.”

“For what exactly?” eyes narrowed Chris’ voice took on a demanding tone.

Steve shook his head. “Kid killed himself back around V-Day. Was all over the papers not to mention he used to come in the Bayou two maybe three times a week.”

That caught Jensen’s attention. Steve knew Jared or at least knew of him. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out the photo Genevieve had provided. He slid it across the table toward Steve, heart racing. “Is that him?”

Studying the photo Steve smiled, something distant—a memory perhaps—in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s him. Kid was nice, bit shy, but cool. Sometimes the girl was with him other times he was alone. He loved the music, knew his way around it. Genevieve though didn’t care much for the place it wasn’t her cup of tea.”

“How well you know him?”

A snort of laughter escaped Steve. “Well enough he managed to make Chris jealous.”

“I was not jealous, asshole.” Chris growled as he leaned back against the cushions.

Steve grinned in Jensen’s direction. “Yeah, he was. Jared was a nice looking kid and smart too. We had a few conversations. When he was alone at the club, he’d find a seat near the stage sit listening to the music while he sketched. As a matter of fact…”

Standing, he maneuvered around the furniture and disappeared into the bedroom, Chris watching with a sour expression. Steve was right—he was jealous. A jealous Chris was amusing, but dangerous. Jensen cleared his throat the sound attracting his attention. Chris’ eyes narrowed even further if possible.

“What?”

“You ever warn Jared off?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, man?”

“It is what it is, Chris. I know you well enough to see guilt on your ugly mug.”

Chris opened his mouth, jaw working like a fish out of water and then he deflated. “Look, Jen, the kid seemed a little too damn interested in Steve. I just followed him out of the club one night to his truck and ask him what he thought he was doing.”

“And?”

“And nothing,” Chris hissed glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. “I just made it clear Steve and me were together is all.”

“When was that?” Jensen leaned in, fingers worrying at the beer label.

Chris huffed, attention focused on the bottle clutched in his hands, “A couple of days before he disappeared.”

Now the guilt in Chris’ eyes made sense. “Dude, listen to me. You didn’t kill him you talked to him. It isn’t like Steve isn’t used to your lack of self-esteem.”

“Hey!”

“Okay, poor choice of words, but you know what I mean. Any guy who dares to eye him sends you into a tizzy.”

“If I’d known the kid was sensitive I wouldn’t have…” his voice trailed off as Steve reappeared holding a cardboard sleeve.

“What’re you two yapping about?” he eyed Chris then Jensen suspicion obvious in his features.

“Nothing.” they both replied.

“Yeah, right…nothing. Any time you two go stereo on me it’s usually about me. So what gives?”

Chris glanced in Jensen’s direction, eyes pleading and Christian Motherfucking Kane never pleaded—ever. With a put upon sigh, Jensen rolled his eyes.

“Dude, it is not that bad. Quit being a jackass already and tell Steve what you did.”

Steve’s gaze flicked back to Chris. “What did you do?”

“Fine,” he glared at Jensen, “some friend you are.” He took a swig of beer and then focused on the ceiling. “I kind of had a talk with the damn sasquatch.”

“What the hell, Chris? Did you…”

Chris threw his hands in the air. “Didn’t touch him—swear to fucking God. Just told him he was flirting with my guy and he needed to stop.”

Flopping down on the sofa, Steve sighed louder than any human had a right to. “Jesus, Chris when?”

“Couple of days before…” Chris’ unspoken words lingered in the air.

“Shit!” Steve’s face flushed with anger. He didn’t normally get angry, Chris was the angry one, but he’d had enough of this crap. Any man he talked to sent Chris’ hackles rising. “Did the cops talk to you back then?”

“Naw, man, nothing happened. Guess no one from the club saw me following him out.”

“You’re damn lucky too. If they’d known you had a confrontation…”

“A discussion…we had a discussion.” Chris corrected him.

Steve snorted. “Whatever, Chris, I’m not going to argue with you. If they’d known then you could have been a prime suspect in his disappearance. Lucky for you they didn’t and then they discovered his truck and the letter.”

“I don’t think he committed suicide.”

Steve focused on Jensen. “What would make you think that? LAPD said…”

“I don’t give a fuck what the cops said. I talked to Collins tonight, the detective in charge of the investigation and he enlightened me on a few things.”

This was the moment of truth. Caught between two lines of thought he wondered if this case would be the one that ended him. The kid was dead, possibly murdered on Lane’s order for what had happened ten years prior or he was alive and hiding for another fucked up reason. He preferred the latter because if Jared were dead then he’d seen his ghost lingering at the Bayou tonight and that was impossible. Jensen didn’t believe in ghosts. He believed in human evil, hot lead and warm whiskey, but he unequivocally did not believe in the dead haunting the living.

“Jen, what is it?”

He glanced up at Steve and then at Chris. Both men appeared worried and had he not known Chris as well he would have believed scared. All this talk of death and ghosts was starting to get to him. Jared had to be alive—he had to be. 

“Ten years ago in Corpus Christi there was a raid on a local drug lord and Jared was arrested.”

“I can’t believe that.” Steve whispered beneath his breath. “Jared was a good kid.”

Jensen raised one eyebrow, leaning back as he finished off his beer. “It’s true, Steve, and it gets worse.”

“How can it be worse?” Chris snapped. “We had some punk ass…”

“He was a prostitute.”

Steve’s face blanched. “No fucking way!”

It was apparent Steve had liked the kid. “Wasn’t his fault, Steve, he was forced into it. He turned state’s evidence on the drug lord and sent him to federal prison. Could have went into Witness Protection, but he declined. God only knows why.”

“Why would he turn down Federal Protection? That’s suicidal at best.” Standing up Chris started to pace again flexing his fingers and Jensen wondered if something else had happened between the two of them.

“Kid didn’t give an excuse, except he was tired of hiding.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say about the entire mess.

Steve cleared his throat eyes focused on his hands. “Do you think the bastard had a hit put out on him?”

“Maybe,” Jensen sighed. “Then again, maybe he did take a high dive.”

Chris stopped in his tracks, cracking his knuckles. “You don’t believe that, Jen. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here. You’d be returning Cortese’s money and washing your hands of the entire thing.”

“Look guys…if there is anything…”

“Jensen,” Steve recalled the reason he’d left the knuckleheads alone in the first place. He held out the cardboard sleeve and Jensen eyed it. “This was what I wanted to give you. Jared did this as a thank you for…well for being his friend. At least that’s what he said.”

Accepting the sleeve, Jensen reached in and slid out a canvas with frayed edges, wrapped in bubble wrap. He sat the sleeve aside and freed the canvas from its haphazard wrapping. What greeted his eyes was an incredible night landscape that stole his breath away not simply because of its beauty, but the subject itself.

“He said this was his favorite place in the world.” Voice cracking, Steve dropped to the sofa. “I can’t keep it. Not now, not after what happened there.”

Jensen’s eyes grew wider. From Steve’s reaction, it was exactly what he thought it was—the lighthouse at San Luis.

 

Sitting on the bed, lukewarm beer in hand and cigarette dangling from his lips, Jensen stared at the painting Steve had given him, now hanging on the wall of his shitty hole in the wall apartment. It was beautiful beyond words. Too damn beautiful to be here in this place, he thought. Knowing what had happened in that place, the place Jared had told Steve was his favorite, caused a sour twist in the pit of his stomach.

If Jared were dead (and it was looking more and more as if he were) there had to be a reason he would have taken his own life there. Sliding from the bed, he sat aside the beer he’d long forgotten, mesmerized by the painting, and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray next to the bed. He moved across the room until he was standing directly in front of the painting, head cocked, as he reached out hesitant to touch the image. After a few seconds had passed he stretched out one calloused finger to trace the edge of the lighthouse.

There was a reason he’d given Steve this painting. Jensen could feel it in his gut and although he’d told Steve it was about friendship, he was sure there was more to it. Jared had given Steve the painting the same night Chris had threw his hissy fit, two nights before Jared had driven to San Luis and supposedly taken a swan dive into the Pacific. It just didn’t add up in Jensen’s eyes. None of it did.

“What were you hiding, Jared?” he whispered.

Nothing

Jensen spun eyes wide as saucers to search the shadows of the small apartment. He was sure he’d heard a voice, but he was alone. Nerves on edge he moved into the office, pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans. He searched every nook and cranny of the office, checking the locks even though he knew no one could have entered. Tucking the gun away at the small of his back, he ran shaking hands over his face and through his hair. He was losing it, he thought. After everything he’d seen and done, he was losing it over a complete stranger he’d never met; a man who’d killed himself for no obvious reason.

“Get a grip, Ackles.” He told himself, head shaking as he turned back to the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Outside the window behind the desk, shadows shifted and bled across the metal stairs clinging to the aged brick. A figure stepped from the darkness, one hand raised to press against the dirty glass, long graceful fingers splayed. Dark eyes watched as the lights went out in the neighboring apartment and gentle breath frosted the glass.

Help me…please…


	7. Chapter 7

Sleep eluded Jensen for most of the night, the image of the lighthouse in San Luis haunting his subconscious. There was something enticing about every aspect of the canvas from the brushstrokes to the color palette and even the use of light or rather the lack of it. Standing at the edge of the cliff was a figure swathed in shadow no sense of belonging, a mass darker than the surrounding night. Jensen knew the figure was the artist himself. How he knew he couldn’t say, but as the sun rose over the City of Angels he knew where he needed to go next.

Therefore, he found himself outside the city, trusty metal steed rumbling beneath him as he navigated the dangerous roads winding through steep hills standing watch over millions of people wandering the dark underbelly of a world few people knew existed. He’d checked the police file and found the address he needed—Jared’s studio—and if he were right, the one person he needed to talk to would be waiting there.

He’d driven for around an hour when he finally discovered what he was looking for and stopped at the gates, eyebrows drawn together in a frown. From the looks of it, Jared had money, a shit ton of it, which left one to wonder about the origins of the money. Only ten years before he’d been a drug addicted teenage whore under the thumb of a drug lord who’d done unspeakable things to the kid; things Jensen had no desire to think about right now. Fast-forward a decade and from all appearances he was clean, a successful artist, and engaged to the youngest daughter of what amounted to American royalty on par with the Kennedys. Jensen wasn’t buying anything the paper trail had to offer. There was a stench in the air and he was determined to find the source of the stench. 

Shifting the Impala into reverse, he backed up and then pulled into the shale driveway leading up a steep incline to where an electrified six-foot fence surrounded an expanse of wooded property. A few yards up the driveway, he came to a stop when faced with single metal electronic gate and an intercom system. Whatever Jared had been hiding or hiding from was huge. He suspected though it was more about keeping something out instead of in. Jared had been scared he imagined as he spotted the red eyes of at least two security cameras hidden within the thick foliage.

Jensen leaned out the window, pressing the call button on the intercom. He was hoping someone would answer and released a breath as a young woman’s voice came over the speaker.

"Look, haven’t you vultures bothered me enough?”

Eyebrows raised, Jensen cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but my name is Jensen Ackles. I’m a private investigator. Ms. Cortese told me I might find Megan Padalecki here. Do I have the wrong address?”

For a split-second, he was unsure if he was going to get an answer. Just as he reached for the gearshift, static exploded from the speaker followed by the same voice. “Give me a second—okay?”

Minutes passed and then the gate swung open without further communication. The cameras in the trees followed the movement of his car as he pulled forward without a sound.

Well, Jensen thought. Into the lion’s den we go.

#

Megan Padalecki wasn’t what he’d expected, but then nothing on this case was as he’d expected. According to Genevieve, she was a corporate attorney so he’d expected Donna Karen or Chanel and an overpriced Mercedes-Benz. What he got was simpler than he’d ever imagined.

Looking at Megan, one did not think high-powered attorney, but rather rancher. She resembled her brother in a few things—hair color, skin tone, and height. Standing at six foot, she could look Jensen straight in the eye without benefit of heels. Her long thick brunette hair pulled back in a high ponytail accentuated sharp cheekbones and almond shaped eyes, something else she shared with her brother. Scrubbed clean of any make-up her face, while not plain, was not as exotic as Jared’s face although she was attractive.

Her handshake was firm and strong for a woman and Jensen appreciated the way she looked straight in his eyes. Megan Padalecki was a strong woman with nothing to hide in his opinion.

“Genevieve told me she’d hired an investigator, but she didn’t tell me you would give Brad Pitt a run for his money.” Her laughter was brisk at the flush that crept into Jensen’s cheeks. “She didn’t tell me you were old fashioned either.”

“Old-fashioned?”

She released his hand and turned, waving him into the two-level Spanish style ranch house. “Yes, Mr. Ackles. Very few men these days blush.”

Chuckling he followed Megan into a wide foyer, floor tiled in dusky rose granite and bordered in glossy turquoise. In the center was a medallion composed of the same colors in a distinct Hispanic pattern. His gaze lifted to take in a double spiral staircase with wrought iron railings leading to an open second floor, floor to ceiling glass doors on two sides and three doors on each of the remaining two. An iron chandelier hung from the ceiling centered perfectly above the medallion in the foyer floor.

“This place is…”

“Huge?” she offered. “Yes, it is, but I image Genevieve had something to do with that, Mr. Ackles. Jared never was one for being ostentatious that’s more her style.”

“Please, call me Jensen.”

She smiled, hint of dimples flickering into existence and then fading. “An unusual name as far as first names go; Jared would have liked that.”

Something about the way she said it made Jensen think perhaps Genevieve hadn’t known her fiancé as well as she thought. “What can you tell me about your brother, Ms. Padalecki?”

Her lips parted on a husky laugh head shaking and ponytail bobbing wildly. “A better question would be what I can’t tell. My brother and I well, we were extremely close—best friends. We stayed in contact even after our father kicked him out of the house.”

“Your father kicked him out?”

Megan sighed. “Yes, I was twelve at the time. Jared was seventeen and he came out.”

“Came out? As in…”

She waved him up the staircase to the left. “Yes, my brother was gay. I bet Genevieve didn’t tell you—did she?”

“No, she didn’t, but the big question is did she know he was gay.”

As they reached the top of the staircase, Megan turned toward him a sly gleam in her hazel eyes. “I would hope so. She met him in a gay club.”

#

Megan was more than accommodating and Jensen got the distinct impression despite what Genevieve might believe she’d disapproved of their relationship. She led him to the east side of the second level and unlocked the first door they came to then excused herself, explaining she would be downstairs when he finished. She granted him all the time he needed to look through Jared’s personal belongings.

Once she’d vanished from sight, Jensen turned back to the heavy wooden door. Laying one hand against the door, he closed his eyes and tried to imagine what he’d find on the other side. Megan had told him this was Jared’s sanctuary from everything, emphasis on everything. He was damned sure everything included Genevieve.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold.

The first thing he noticed was what he’d believed to be three rooms was in actuality one huge rectangular room running from the front to the back of the house. In the northeastern corner was a walled off section hiding a private bathroom done in shades of blue. A gigantic Jacuzzi tub positioned next to the windows looked out into a lush garden at the rear of the house.

Jensen wandered from the bathroom into the main room, eyes taking in the entirety of the room. The opposite end of the room was the sleeping area, platform bed bigger than anything he’d ever seen and he imagined it had been special made for Jared. There was an antique chifforobe against the wall at the foot of the bed made of the same dark wood. The room was a riot of color. Tables of art supplies were scattered about the remainder of the open space along with stacked canvases, a pottery wheel, and what appeared to be a kiln.

At first glimpse, one would believe the artist had stepped from the room and would return shortly. On further inspection, dust covered everything in a thin layer, which made sense considering Jared had died coming up on three months. He still wondered if the kid was dead and a part of him hoped he wasn’t. Hope springs eternal, they said, yet Jensen wasn’t one to have hope not after all he’d seen in his life. Hope was something for fools and romantics. Jensen on the other hand—well he was neither.

He paused at the wrought iron rack holding the stacked canvases and pulled a random one out. This particular painting was another night scene, same as the one hanging in his apartment. A faint smile worked its way onto his face as he realized this one was of Texas—there was no doubt of it. Wide spread of grasslands bisected by electric lines strung along poles that towered over the swaying grass, progressively getting smaller until they disappeared in the distance. The focal point though was what appeared to be a dead tree slightly off-center, skeletal fingers rising into a night sky of boiling storm clouds. Beyond the tree, in the distance, blinding white streaks of lightning cleaved the violet tinted gray of the clouds. The surrounding grass and the tree itself painted in bold strokes of lime green created a distinctive contrast against the darkness of the storm.

Standing alone in the silence of Jared’s studio, eyes locked on the canvas, Jensen felt as if his heart were breaking. Somehow, he understood the tree was a representation of the artist—alone and lost on the Texas prairie swallowed by the storm. His hands shook with the effort to suppress the feelings rising inside him. He was no longer standing in the studio bathed in warm morning light, but rather he’d become part of the painting. He could feel the hot Texas wind in his hair, cool mist of rain from the storm on his skin. Eyes drifting shut, he could hear the rumble of thunder, and the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end.  
Can you hear me?

The voice from the previous night seemed to vibrate through him an echo of the thunder he heard.

Help me, please…

What can I do? Jensen thought. You’re dead. You were dead long before I knew you were alive. I can't do anything to save you now, Jared.

Yes, you can…you’re the only one who…

“Mr. Ackles, are you okay?”

Ripped from his silent conversation with a dead man, Jensen swallowed hard as he spotted Megan standing in the doorway. “Fine…I’m fine.”

She moved into the room, eyes wet with unshed tears. “This is the first time I’ve managed to walk through this door since…” her voice trailed off, tears trembling on her lashes and then she cleared her throat, “You know the worst part of this is our father still won’t forgive him for being gay. He’s been dead for three months and he’s still carrying on about how Jared is no son of his that his eternal soul is burning in Hell now.”

Eyes focused on the canvas, a chill crept down Jensen’s spine. “I’m sorry, Megan.”

“What for, Mr. Ackles?”

He let out a half-choked laugh. “For your brother dying…your father being a dick. Hell, I don’t know.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to discover she’d moved closer, slender hand lifting to rest on his shoulder. “I haven’t done anything to be thanked for.”

“You’re trying to discover the truth and that’s enough.” She leaned in pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and then pulled back cheeks damp. “Jared deserved better than what he got. He was a good man and I’m not saying that because he was my brother.”

Grasping his hand, she dropped something cool and metallic in his palm pressing his fingers close around it. Before he had a chance to ask she was gone from the room leaving only the faint scent of her perfume behind. He opened his hand to find a key ring holding three keys, one of which was a safety deposit key. Maybe there was more to Jared and his death than met the eye.

He started to go then paused, throat tightening. Glancing back at the canvas, he pulled it from the rack, fingers tightening around the frame and walked out locking the door behind him.

#

“Did you go through his studio?”

Misha glanced up exhausted eyes focusing on Jensen standing in the office doorway and ran one hand over his face. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me fine the first time, Collins.” Over the threshold in a heartbeat, Jensen kicked the door shut fingers flexing around the framed canvas in his hand. “Now answer the fucking question.”

There was something in Jensen’s voice—a rough edge of emotion—that had Misha wishing to hell he’d called in sick this evening. “Yeah, we went through his studio. Genevieve had a key to his place. We turned the house upside down…”

“And?” one leg jittered enough Misha could feel the vibrations through the floor.

“And what?” quirking an eyebrow in Jensen’s direction he picked up his mug only to discover it empty—again.

Jensen seemed way too damn wired as if he’s been on a weeklong bender. Whatever patience he’d had ran out somewhere between discovering the painting clutched in his hand and realizing he was on his way back to the station to read Collins the riot act. Megan hadn’t objected to him taking the painting and she’d offered no further explanation for the key ring now weighing heavy in his pocket.

“What did you find?”

Shoulders slumped, Misha made his way to the coffee machine in the corner, mug dangling from his fingers. “A whole lot of nothing.” he offered picking up the pot to refill his mug, “Coffee?”

Turning away, he ignored the offer of coffee. What he really wanted was a stiff shot of whiskey and a cigarette. He dropped in one of the chairs and shook his head in disbelief, “Nothing?”

“I didn’t stutter, Ackles.” Misha snapped returning to his desk. “We found a whole lot of fucking nothing outside of art supplies.”

Eyes narrowing, Jensen slammed the canvas down on Misha’s desk, scattering papers. “What about this?”

Misha sipped at his coffee, eyeing the canvas. “It’s a painting.”

“No, it’s not.” Jensen leaned back in the chair, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “It’s a clue to what happened to him.”

Sitting aside his mug and leaning over the desk, Misha studied the painting in question. “What exactly am I supposed to see?”

“Jesus Christ, Collins, of all the idiots in this department I’d think you’d get it.”

Frown etched along his brow, Misha glanced up with a snort. “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”

Jensen leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and eyes focused on the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to be a complete ass although it was tempting. After all Collins was the one who gave him the insight into Jared’s past, a possible reason for his death. “I asked around about you.” He whispered. “You were with the BSU division of the FBI before you walked away and decided to join the LAPD.”

“So, that makes me an art expert?”

Head lifting, Jensen met his eyes and a shudder went through Misha. He didn’t talk about his past with the FBI and he had damn good reason not to. When he’d left Washington he’d hoped to leave behind the things he’d seen and did no sane human should have witnessed or done. Looking into Jensen’s eyes though he knew there was no shaking this particular monkey off his back.

“Cut the crap, Collins.”

“Misha.” he corrected. “My name is Misha.”

Jensen snorted. “Now we’ve cleared that unsolved mystery up can we get down to business?”

Every muscle in Misha’s body tightened and he slid the coffee away, the taste nauseating now. “You don’t have a clue what you’re asking of me—do you?” his voice was dull almost lifeless as he pushed up from the desk and turned his back.

“Maybe I understand more than you think I do.”

A choked sound escaped Misha, arms lifting to fold over his chest. He didn’t want to remember what it had been like before. Joining the LAPD had been a way to escape the memories of a life gone to hell in one bright flaming moment. His eyes drifted shut the bitter taste of the past rising in his throat.

“I get it okay? I do, but there’s not a damned thing we can do for him. He’s dead, gone and no amount of searching will change that. I should know.” Anger and grief stained his voice as the sound of Jensen shifting in his seat filled his ears.

“Who did you lose?”

Misha turned eyes wide, shining in the harsh florescence of the office lights. His voice broke. “Everything I loved is gone and nothing I ever do will change that. You never believe it can happen to you and then it does. Why do you think I put this case to rest? Genevieve Cortese thinks she knew her fiancé, but she doesn’t have a fucking clue. I practically begged her to let it go. Of course love does crazy shit to a person’s head.”

“So, what doesn’t she know besides the obvious?” Jensen leaned back in the chair, fingers twitching with nerves.

“Let’s go for a drink.”


	8. Chapter 8

Milligan’s was one of those American bars trying its damnedest to be an authentic Irish pub, but no amount of dark wood or Guinness could hide the truth. In truth it was a hangout for the elite college crowd; kids with more money than brains and no respect for education. Jensen sat at one of the tables tucked away in a dark corner wondering why the hell a thirty-something cop would pick a place like this to drown his sorrows.

“No one knows me here and I’m not about to run into a fellow officer in a place like this.”

He glanced up from the foam-covered pint cradled in his hands and grinned. “What are you—psychic now?”

Misha snorted, reaching up to loosen his tie. “To hear some people tell it being a profiler is fucking close to being psychic. If it were maybe…” he reached for his own mug. “Besides I like Guinness.” Lifting the mug, he took a deep swallow of the bitter liquid.

“Why couldn’t we talk back at your office?”

The glass hit the wooden tabletop with a dull thud, Misha wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know as well as I do there’s no respect for the law any longer. It’s all about politics and how many palms you grease with how much green. Julian Cortese greased a great number of palms on this one to make it go away.”

“Why the hell would he do that? I thought he approved of Jared.” Frowning Jensen took a sip from the mug and rolled the liquid over his tongue. Not his cup of tea, but what the hell he’d tasted worse.

“He did.” Misha offered, eyes averted and fingers tracing through the condensation on the scarred wood. “It wasn’t because he didn’t like the kid from what I could put together; more about his daughter than anything else.”

“Why about Genevieve?” he worried his lower lip between his teeth.

Misha raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve met her, right? The girl is as shallow as they come. Has a high opinion of herself and that’s never good in a town like this—money or not.”

Laughing Jensen took another drink. As he sat his glass aside, he offered Misha a smirk. “She try her little seductress crap act on you, too?”

Nodding Misha chuckled. “Girl thinks all she has to do is bat those long lashes, pucker those cherry red lips and men will fall at her feet. I know she loved Jared in her own way, but it isn’t the kind of love a couple that’s about to get married should have. If it were she would have known about his past; the good, the bad, and the ugly.”

Jensen lifted his mug in a salute and downed the remainder of his drink. “I’ll give you that one, Collins.” He paused and considered the man across the table. “Did you know Jared was gay?”

“Not at first, but I had a chat with Megan his sister.”

“So did I and I’m damned sure she didn’t approve of the relationship he had with the Cortese girl. Hell, to be honest I don’t get it. He was already a successful artist so it wasn’t as if he needed a beard to hide behind.”

Misha relaxed although he continued to search the crowded bar as if expecting someone he knew. “Look, Ackles…”

“Jensen.”

A faint smile tipped the corner of Misha’s chapped lips. “Jensen, I don’t know the entire story like I said too many greased palms, but there is one thing I know. Whatever you do don’t trust Genevieve.”

“She’s my client.”

“That doesn’t mean you can trust her.”

He stood dropping a twenty on the table, grabbed his coat, and started for the door.

“Why shouldn’t I trust her?” Jensen called out.

For a second he didn’t think Misha would answer, but then he stopped. Turning he looked straight in Jensen’s eyes, shoulders slumping. “You were right about the paintings—they’re a clue. I just never figured it out though.”

Before Jensen could react, Misha was gone, noise of the bar closing in around him as he glanced down at his empty glass. If Misha was right (and he was damn sure he was) then his next stop was going to raise some eyebrows.

#

Standing outside Atlas Gym, Jensen took a drag from the cigarette pinched between his fingers humming softly. It had been a long time since he’d came near this place, but if he was going to take Misha’s words for the Lord’s gospel, he needed to know why Tom would send Genevieve to him.

Cigarette dropped to the ground he crushed the glowing ember beneath his boot heel and took a calming breath before heading for the front door. Beyond the glass doors, he stepped into a world he considered one for the weak not the strong. Everything was modern, shiny silver and glass with colors bright enough to blind a rainbow. Behind a huge desk sat one of a million women who refused to accept the eventuality of everyone aging and dying, hell even the young died. Jared had proved that.

She glanced up with her plastic smile and fake boobs (far too big for her petite frame) bleach blonde ponytail bobbing as she stood. “Can I help you?”

It wasn’t what she said, but rather the tone she used and the expression in her eyes. Pink tongue darting out to lick inhumanly perfect lips she eyed him up and down as if he were a prime piece of meat. Jensen had gotten used to the way women and men alike gave him the once over. Without a word spoken between them, he knew what they were thinking—pretty boy, wonder what it would take to fuck him. Here in LA, it was always about how pretty, young or perfect you were. A city of facades, he thought. Shallow, self-absorbed, and ignorant of the dark underbelly of the very world they desired to be a part of so desperately.

“I’m here to see Tom.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Her lashes fluttered causing a snort to rip from him. “Don’t need one.” He growled and headed back toward where he knew Tom’s office was.

“Sir…Sir! You can’t go back there it’s for employees only!”

He could hear the click of spindly heels on the marble floor as she tried to catch up with him and he grinned. Stupid, he thought. He lifted one hand and extended his middle finger with a flourish never slowing down. At the end of the hall was the office he was looking for and the man he’d not seen in so damn long it seemed a different life all together. He pushed through the door as the receptionist caught up with him and the man behind the desk glanced up.

“Mr. Welling, I’m so sorry,” the woman squeaked in her baby doll voice.

“No worries, Candi. Could you please leave Mr. Ackles and me alone?”

She glanced at Jensen nibbling at the corner of her mouth, eyes wide and nervous when he flashed a predatory grin. “Yes, of course.” She backed out of the office closing the door as she went.

They waited, taking one another in as the sound of her heels faded in the distance. Then Tom cleared his throat. “You stink of cigarettes and booze.”

Jensen’s smile widened one eyebrow quirked. “Nice to see you too, Tom.”

“And to what do I owe the pleasure?” leaning back in his chair, Tom’s arms folded over his chest; defensive motion although his expression was open and friendly.

“I think you know.”

“Genevieve.”

“Why did you send her to me? Considering how much you hate my guts it seems an odd thing to do.”

“Never said I hated you.”

“Really? I’m damned sure I recall a certain argument where we established the facts of why our relationship went down the crapper.” Eyes narrowing Jensen took a seat.

A sharp bark of laughter exploded from Tom as he leaned forward hands settling on the desk. “See right there is why I split. It was never you. It was the damn job. You were never home and when you were the distance between us was so fucking big you might as well have been across the country. It was as if I was watching you die bit by bit. What did you expect me to do?”

“You knew who I was when we hooked up.”

“Did I, Jen?”

“Don’t you dare call me that, you lost the right when you took off in the middle of the fucking night.” he pushed back the chair and stood, heading for the door. “This was a stupid idea. I didn’t come here for this.”

“Then why did you come?” Tom’s voice softened.

Jensen froze, fingers curled around the door handle. He remembered what it was like to hear that tone and a shudder traveled through him. “I wanted to know why you sent Genevieve Cortese to me of all the fucking investigators in the city.”

“What did she say?”

Releasing the handle, Jensen turned to find Tom in his personal space. For a second or two he forgot everything bad in their tumultuous time together. He smelled of the same sandalwood and citrus cologne Jensen would always associate with him until the moment he took his last breath. Once they’d been happy or at least he believed they had, but the past was the past.

“She said you told her I was the best.”

Tom’s hand settled on his shoulder and he stepped closer, eyes searching Jensen’s face as his thumb caressed the hard edge of bone beneath the leather jacket. “It was the truth. You never did anything half-assed.”

He blinked and when he looked, again, they were so close all he had to do was shift and their lips would be touching. “Don’t.” Jensen whispered.

“Don’t what?”

Somewhere inside him, he managed to find the strength to push Tom away. “It’s been over for a long time.”

Regret shone in Tom’s eyes, a melancholy smile curling his lips. “I suppose it has, but does that mean we can’t be friends?”

Jensen laughed, bitter sound that said it all. “I came here to ask you why and now I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. You sent her to me so you could get your foot in the door—didn’t you?”

Snorting, Tom turned away. “Maybe it was part of the reason, but not all of it. Genevieve and I grew up together, attended Fairmont private school in Anaheim from the time we were both four and when she lost Jared; it shattered her world. I needed to help her and you were the best way to do that.”

“Do you believe the police?”

“No.” he turned to face Jensen, expression sincere. “Jared was a good guy even if he had secrets. Toward the end before he vanished he started to distance himself from her, threw himself into his work. She practically had to drag him kicking and screaming from his studio.”

Jensen frowned. “And why the hell is that a bad thing? He was making money being responsible. After all he was getting ready to marry.”

“It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t sleeping or eating. Gen was worried sick about him. At first, we thought he was getting the jitters about the wedding, but he denied it. Then he started receiving texts. The thing was he never answered them. He’d read them and then erase them. Every time his entire demeanor would change. One minute laughing and the next he’d drawn into himself.”

“Have any clue who was sending these texts?” leaning against the wall he studied Tom’s body language as the other man began to pace.

“No idea at all, man. Gen wanted to check his phone, but if he didn’t have a death grip on the damn thing it was locked up.”

Jensen eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Locked up?”

“Yeah, he’d lock it in his glove box or the nightstand according to her. She was starting to think he was having an affair, but Jay wasn’t the kind of guy who did shit like that. He was…”

“What?”

Tom looked up from the floor where he was trying his damnedest to wear a groove. “He was the guy next door I suppose. Fresh faced, quiet spoken, polite to a fault and faithful be it friend or lover.”

Eyes going wide, Jensen let out a low whistle. “You hit on him—didn’t you?”

Flush of red creeping into his face, Tom averted his eyes. “Yeah, I did, but not until all the weird shit started going down. Genevieve's brother, Robert, and I discussed it before hand. We figured if he took me up on the offer we’d know for sure what was going on.”

“Jesus fuck, Tom, what were you thinking? You could have ruined your friendship with Genevieve.”

“I’m not stupid!” Tom snapped. “We asked her before I made my move. She was desperate. Besides we met Jared at The Front Page and we thought maybe he was flat out gay and not bi-sexual.”

“He was.”

Tom spun around baby blues wide with shock. He was good, but not that good, Jensen thought. “Is it that surprising?” he questioned. “After all you just said you met him at The Front Page and we all know it’s a gay bar.”

“If he was gay and not bi then why the hell…?”

“Would he propose to Genevieve?” Jensen finished. “That’s a damned good question.”

#

It was nearing midnight when Jensen returned to his office, exhausted mentally rather than physically. He’d never felt like this on any case he’d taken, but then most of his cases were about philandering lovers, stolen identities or parents on the run with the kids who they’d lost in divorce. There’d been a few missing person’s cases as well, but never an investigation into someone who was officially dead.

He shut the door behind him, locked it tight, and headed through the dark office. The only light was from the streetlights fighting through layers of grime on the windows behind the desk. Making his way to the desk, he settled in and reached for the drawer where he kept the whiskey. He groaned in frustration as he lifted the bottle from the drawer light shifting across what was perhaps a single swallow left in the bottom when he swirled it with flick of his wrist.

“Fuck.”

Unscrewing the cap he tipped it back and swallowed straight from the bottle, burn easing the ache in his head. It wasn’t enough. Maybe Tom had been right. Maybe this life, hell this job, was killing him by increments. All he’d ever wanted was to help people. It seemed though all he managed was to drive a wedge between anyone who showed interest. Sure, he had friends like Jim, Steve, and Chris, but what did they even know about the real Jensen; the Jensen he locked away who did things his mama would have been horrified by.

He leaned back in the chair, empty bottle dropping to the floor and closed his eyes hoping it would cease the constant voices in his head. When was the last time you visited your parents? One voice asked. When was the last time you had a decent night’s rest without drinking yourself into unconsciousness? Another inquired. They never stopped, he thought reaching up to rub the knot of pain forming between his eyes.

Jensen.

The soft whisper had him nearly flipping the chair over as he stood, gun in hand and eyes wide as saucers. “Who the fuck is in here?” he demanded.

From the shadows, a figure emerged and his hands began to shake with the effort not to run. Although he’d never met the man, there was no doubt he was looking straight into Jared Padalecki’s eyes. He stepped around the corner of the desk as Jared shuffled closer. The kid was soaking wet, strands of hair stuck to his forehead and clothes heavy with water sagging on his lanky frame.  
Can you hear me?

“Of course I can. You’re standing in my office.”

I’m not here.

That was when Jensen realized Jared’s lips weren’t moving. He hadn’t actually heard Jared speak; the voice he heard had been in his head. Before he could stop it, laughter burbled up from the pit of his stomach. “This is crazy. I must be dreaming.”

Please…you have to help me…

Jensen backed away as the phantom shuffled closer leaving a trail of wet footprints across the floor. “I can’t help you—you’re already dead. There’s nothing anyone can do for you now.”

No, I’m…please…

He drew closer and Jensen’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Don’t make me shoot you, Jared. Stay back!” his voice grew louder.

Please…help…so cold…

Jensen pulled the trigger, report of the gun loud in the darkness. When the bullet should have connected with flesh, it passed through Jared disrupting his image as if he were nothing more than white noise on a television screen. Behind the figure the window in the door shattered, glass exploding out into the hall.

Seconds later, Jensen was running for the door, heart pounding in his chest and Jared flickered back into existence. He tried to stop his headlong flight for the door, heels digging into the floor, but he couldn’t. Jensen opened his mouth to scream as he passed through Jared and no sound escaped his lips, heartbeat loud enough in his ears to deafen him.

Rain beating down around him

Lightning exploding in the darkness

Pain sharp and deep

Cold seeping into his bones, freezing his marrow

Jensen rammed through the door and hit the floor of the hall, knees first, screaming until his voice gave out and fell forward, shattered glass biting into the palms of his hand. Blood slicked the wood beneath mixing with the salt tinged water where Jared’s steps had led him from the darkness. Jensen’s chest felt as if it were in a vice grip and with each passing second it became more difficult to breath.

Then there was nothing but the echo of Jared’s voice and darkness.

I’m not…Please…


	9. Chapter 9

Faint beeping, sound of vaguely familiar voices whispering and the antiseptic smell of a hospital seeping into his consciousness were the first things Jensen noticed as he rose from the darkness. His vision was blurry, smears of white and gray around the edges. The thin softness of hospital sheets beneath and around him confused the shit out of him. The last thing he remembered was returning to his office. He strained his ears trying to make out the words spoken to his left.

“Why the hell would someone want to kill him?”

That was Chris, he’d know his voice anywhere, gruff, and on the verge of throttling anyone who dared come within an inch of Jensen.

“I warned him.”

Collins, he thought. Motherfucking cop who didn’t have a clue what the hell was really going on. Then again neither did Jensen in all honesty.

“Hey, guys I think he’s waking up.”

Steve was the final piece in the present puzzle.

“Jensen?”

He could feel eyes on him, more than one pair and he blinked trying to focus on the three faces hovering above him, “Scarecrow, Tin-man, and Cowardly Lion?” His voice was raspy as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks. “Where the hell is Auntie Em?”

“Right here you jackass.”

Head shifting against the pillows, his world swam for a split-second before coming back into focus. Sam Ferris was setting next to the bed looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey.” He offered.

“Hey, yourself, kid.” Her voice softened. “How’re you feeling?”

Jensen struggled to set up, “Like I’ve been probed by a god damn alien.”

“You scared the living daylights out of us.” Chris growled. “What the fuck happened?”

What am I supposed to say? He wondered. Attention shifting from Chris he focused on the sheet beneath his bandaged hands and began to pick at the frayed hem. “Don’t know.” He mumbled.

“Don’t know?” Chris’ voice rose. “Sam called us in the middle of the night when the alarm went off on the building. They called the motherfucking cops!”

“Hey, cop in the room!”

He glanced up as the two men eyed one another in unease then focused on the sheet again. “I don’t know.”

“God damn it, Jensen!” Chris snapped disregarding Collins with a flick of his wrist, the other man rolled his eyes and slipped out the door. “I’m tired of this shit!”

Head jerking up, Jensen’s face flushed with anger. “I said I don’t fucking know! What the hell do you want me to say?”

“Chris.”

Chris spun to aim a glare at Steve. “Something happened and I want to know what! Every since he took this fucking case he’s been…”

“I think you need to leave.” Jensen’s tone was soft despite the anger in the words.

Throwing his hands in the air, Chris growled. “Fine what the fuck ever!” he stormed out mumbling under his breath about ingrates and assholes.

Steve sighed and turned to Jensen regret shining in his eyes.

“Go.” Jensen whispered. “God only knows what he’s going to end up doing if you don’t.”

With a sharp nod, Steve headed after Chris.

Silence descended on the hospital room for a few blessed seconds and Jensen closed his eyes leaning back into the pillows. He had no explanation for what had happened last night. Until he woke in the hospital, he’d thought it was all a dream. Now he was wondering if what he’d seen was something far worse.

“Listen, kid,” Sam’s voice was gentle yet firm. “I know this case you’re working isn’t any of my business.”

“You’re right—it isn’t.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What is my business though is my building and what the hell happened there last night.”

“Like I said,” he huffed. “I don’t…”

“Bullshit!”

Turning he met her fiery gaze and swallowed hard. “Sam, please.”

“Please my ass!” she snapped. “Have you ever wondered why I let you through my door in the first place? My father was a cop and my grandfather before him. I could have been a cop, but I saw what it did to my dad and my granddad. Didn’t stop me from marrying one though; must have been something in the Ferris blood. Point being is the shit you see digs under your skin, burrows into your blood stream.”

“I’m not a cop.” His voice was barely audible.

“But you were, honey. That’s the reason you became a PI. Now, what cops won’t talk about, PI’s will, so are you going to tell me? Or am I finding a new tenant?”

“You wouldn’t."

She flashed a wicked smile. “Try me, kid.”

Damn it to hell, Jensen thought. Sam could be stubborn as all fuck sometimes and this occasion was no different. He sighed, shoulders slumping. She was expecting an answer and damn soon, from the expression on her face.

“He was there in my office.”

“Who was in the office?”

“The suicide I’m investigating.”

From the shift in her body language, the last thing Sam had expected was for him to claim he’d seen a dead man. “You’re telling me…”

“Yep.”

“That’s…”

“Yeah.”

“But, he’s…”

“Dead.”

They sat staring at one another for what seemed hours, but in reality was mere seconds, before Jensen cleared his throat. Sam shook her head and slumped back in the chair. She seemed to want to ask him something yet there was hesitation in her eyes.

“Look, Sam, I know this is hard to swallow. I thought it was a dream, but apparently not. There was someone there though last night.”

She seemed to consider his words, lip trapped between her teeth. “Jensen.”

“Yeah, Sam, what is it?”

“Could someone want to try and scare you off this investigation?”

“Considering the police half-assed this one big time there could be. Even Collins, who you’ve met, admitted there was some serious palm greasing going on.”

“Who are you working for, Jensen?”

“Sam, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Jensen.”

The look she gave him reminded him of his mother and he hated it. “Genevieve Cortese hired me to look into the death of her fiancé.”

“Julian Cortese’s girl?”

That comment had his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. “You know Julian Cortese? Julian Cortese the shipping magnate?”

Sam smiled, ten years fading away in the blink of an eye. “You could say that.” She offered nothing further and he didn’t ask. “Let me make a couple of calls.” Standing she headed for the door as a scrub clad doctor stepped into the room. “Give me a ring when you’re free and clear—okay?”

“Sure thing, Mom.” he grinned trying to suppress the laugh rising in his throat.

“Watch your mouth, kid. I ain’t that damn old yet.”

With a wink she was gone leaving Jensen to wonder if he was crazy or if someone was trying to get him to back off. Either way he was royally screwed.

#

 

After a cursory exam, the doctor agreed to release him although he seemed to have doubts about Jensen’s supposed memory gap. Nothing pointed to a concussion and all the tests they’d ran came back negative for drugs, alcohol, or probable medical issues so he had no reason to keep him. Signing the release papers, prescriptions in hand, Jensen waited at the front door for Sam Ferris’ arrival. He’d called her as soon as the doctor released him and whatever she was plotting, he wasn’t sure he was going to like.

Just as he decided he was going to make a run for it, Sam’s old pick-up came barreling around the corner and he resolved to deal with whatever crap she was planning. Coming to a stop, one tire on the curb, she shoved open the passenger door and waved him into the truck.

“Have a bit of a drive so haul ass, kid.”

Eyes rising to the heavens, Jensen sent out a silent prayer to a god he knew had to be one suck ass comedian considering his life and swung up into the truck. “So where are we going?”

“Never you mind.” she chuckled pulling the truck away before he had a chance to close the door.

“Damn, Sam! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Nope, just keeping you on your toes is all.”

God save me. He thought.

#

Fifteen miles west of downtown Los Angeles, the Pacific was almost bluer than Detective Collins’ eyes; not to mention, Jensen was going to have to explain the term a bit of a drive to Sam Ferris. He sighed as Sam drove through the ocean side town of Venice Beach there was an old world feel to the area despite the seediness surrounding them. The lost past of what the city had once been lying hidden beneath paved streets swarming with tourists. Once upon a time Venice had been the dreamland of a man with far too much money and an overabundance of imagination. Only the echo of that man’s dream remained now.

Venice wasn’t all that bad he imagined, but it wasn’t his cup of tea. Surfers, street-performers, body builders, you name it Venice had it including the new age side of things. There was a Summer of Love feel to the boardwalk and the inhabitants roaming the beach; free love and all that shit as Chris would have said. Although to be honest, free love wasn’t bad. It was where the free love had been cruising that would sometimes get you into trouble. 

Parked and pocketing the keys Sam headed up the sidewalk before Jensen even realized she’d exited the vehicle. “Ass in gear, Ackles!” she yelled over her shoulder.

Shaking his head, Jensen darted after her. If he hadn’t been gay, he might consider tapping Sam’s ass. She was smart, sassy and had one hell of an ass on her for a forty-something gal. Then there was her mouth, he thought with a chuckle. God knew she could embarrass an entire platoon of Marines without blinking an eye. He liked a woman who could hold her own in world of men.

He nearly ran straight into Sam so caught up in his own thoughts he was. Coming to a halt, he glanced at the storefront she’d stopped at. Great, he thought another new age nightmare. A huge window looking out on the beach proclaimed said business as D&D Divinations in simple cream-colored block letters. Any possible glimpse at the interior of the shop lay hidden behind a simple display of natural crystals and voluptuous feminine goddess statuettes against a deep purple background. A rainbow-striped awning shaded the sidewalk, brass wind chimes hanging from one of the support beams catching the light breeze off the ocean and filling the air with a gentle whisper of music.

“Seriously?” he huffed. “Your big secret is taking me to a…”

“Boy, finish that sentence and I will beat you senseless with my spoon.”

Jensen physically jumped (although it pained him to admit it) turning at the same time and coming face to face with a woman who couldn’t look more out of place in Venice. Her face was round and the color of milk chocolate with high cheekbones and dark eyes that bore through him as if he was warm butter and she were the knife. She wore a loose turquoise blue shirt cinched at the waist over a pale grey skirt with a wide black belt. The woman was all business, summer chic with the exception of the wooden spoon she gripped in one hand as she tapped it against the palm of the other.

“Loretta!” Sam exclaimed pushing past Jensen to envelope the other woman in a hug.

The other woman’s stern expression melted and the smile she offered Sam was brilliant as the afternoon sun beating down on the boardwalk. “Samantha! It has been too damn long!” she pulled back eyeing Sam up and down eyes lighting up. “You are looking fine as spun sugar, girl.”

“You’re not looking bad yourself, honey.” Sam laughed and winked. “So how goes business?”

Loretta shook her head, “You know business is business—same old song just a different damn day.”

Clearing his throat, Jensen eyeballed the two women with irritation. He had shit to do, he thought and not enough time in the day. Loretta raised one eyebrow and stepped around Sam to give him the once over. For some reason the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, the urge to turn around and get right back in Sam’s truck coming over him.

“Hell, child, no reason to be afraid of me as long as you keep a civil tongue in that cute head of yours.” she sniffed as if his thoughts were clear as water. With a sweep of her hand, she turned back to Sam, smile wide and bright. “Come on in I was just making a fresh pitcher of iced tea. Dim’s upstairs sleeping the day away. I’ll call her down as soon as we’re settled. I swear that girl is a shame to the female species.”

Jensen stood there for a second staring at their retreating backs and wondered what the hell Sam had been thinking. He knew he shouldn’t have told her what happened the night before. There was no way he’d seen what he saw. More than likely, he’d dreamed the whole damn thing. The rest easily explained as him being awake enough to confuse reality with the dream.

“Kid, get your ass in gear, Loretta doesn’t bite.” Sam’s voice echoed back from the cool darkness of the doorway.

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he mumbled beneath his breath as he headed for the shop’s door.

“I will if you want me to,” Loretta called out. “Of course I charge, sweet cheeks.”


	10. Chapter 10

Loretta turned out to be Loretta Devine one of the D’s in D & D Divinations the other was Traci Dinwiddie who hated it when Loretta called her Dim. Where Loretta looked as if she would be more comfortable anywhere but Venice Beach, Traci looked like a mix of new age Goth and hard rock roadie fitting right in with eclectic community. Both friends and business partners, the two women couldn’t have been more different than night from day.

Settled into an enclosed garden patio behind the shop, frosted glasses of sweet tea in hand, they were chatting amicably about everything from the weather to the Lakers. Okay, Loretta and Sam were chatting; Jensen was busy taking mental notes as he imagined himself trapped in the middle of a hen house. There was that much clucking going on in his opinion. It was then Traci decided to make her presence known with a flourish Jensen doubted he would ever forget.

“For a gay dude you sure are less than fashion forward.”

He glanced up, one eyebrow rising as he got a good look at Loretta’s business partner and from what he’d managed to figure out—fellow psychic. Traci was tall, slender with long brunette hair pulled up in a sloppy twist and pinned in place with two enameled chopsticks. Prominent cheekbones and thick bangs highlighted intense sage green eyes that attracted Jensen’s attention right out of the gate. She was wearing a white men’s wife beater over a black lace bra, the waist knotted just below her breasts showing off washboard abs. The jeans she wore were faded and filled with convenient frayed holes giving him glimpses of smooth tanned skin beneath leading down to slim bare feet, toenails painted glossy black like her fingernails.

“As if you’re a cover model for Vogue.” he huffed.

She searched his face with those unnerving eyes and then let out a laugh, clear glossed lips stretching in a wide smile. “Oh, you are definitely gay—snap!”

Joining them at the table she glanced at Loretta and the two of them seemed to have a silent conversation. It didn’t bother Sam as she sipped her glass of tea, but it raised every hair along Jensen’s arms. If you’d asked him two days ago if he believed in psychics or ghosts, the answer would’ve been a firm negative. Today though sitting in the defused glow of the afternoon sunlight, slick condensation of the glass in his hand chilling his fingers, he wasn’t so sure of anything anymore. He watched their silent conversation end as Traci shifted in the chair, long legs pulled up and heels balanced on the seat’s edge.

“So, why are we here, Sam?” he could hear the fear in his voice despite his best efforts to conceal it from the three women.

“I imagine it’s because of the visitor you had last night.”

He turned to glare at Loretta as she poured a glass of tea for her partner. “What the hell? Did you tell her…?”

Sam shook her head as she mouthed denial and lifted her glass.

“Then how the fuck would she…?”

“Know about him.” Traci finished his thought lips quirked at the corner. “Simple, Jensen. He’s here right now.”

He dug his fingers into his thighs to calm the tremor rising in his hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He figured denying it was the best he could do.

“Boy, you keep flexing your hands like that you’re going to pop those stitches.” Loretta snorted as she leaned back in her seat. “There is no use in denying anything.”

She cocked her head to the side much as a cat would if studying a non-suspecting bird it were stalking. A chill raced down his spine and he pushed back his chair the urge to run washing over him again.

“Running from this won’t solve anything.” Leaning over Traci reached out, hand settling on his thigh, voice smooth as silk. “He needs you to help him.”

Jensen shot out of the chair, eyes narrowed. “This shit isn’t funny, Sam!”

“Didn’t think it was, kid,” she answered. “Loretta and Traci helped me out when my husband passed. They’re the real deal—no crystal balls required. Now sit down and park your stubborn mule attitude for a couple of hours.”

He glanced from one woman to another and wondered if maybe they could help. Back in Texas, his grandma Ackles had always seemed to know things others didn’t. His parents never spoke about it, but they’d always watched themselves around her.

“Fine.” he conceded. “You’ve got an hour and after that I’m gone.”

#

 

It turned out Loretta was a mind reader of sorts. She could sense emotions and thoughts like most folks breathed. Traci though was a whole different ball of wax. That woman was scarier than any gun Jensen had ever looked down the barrel of and that was saying something. He’d seen a great deal on the streets of Los Angeles, hell in Texas he’d seen some serious shit, but LA took the cake.

After finishing their tea on the patio, they retired to the shop where they wandered while Traci prepped her space at the back of the building. Traci was a natural born medium and from what Sam whispered in his ear as they waited for her to get her Zen on, as she called it, had been talking to the dead for as long as she could remember. If he’d been expecting a crystal ball, he was sorely mistaken which he realized when she called for him to join her.

The walls of her space painted an eggshell cream had black framed, autographed concert posters covering the majority of two of them; the third was a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with more esoteric volumes than he’d seen in his life and the final was a huge window looking out on another section of the enclosed garden. A low oblong table took up the center of the hardwood floor, surrounded by huge cushions in a riot of colors and psychedelic patterns. But the thing that mesmerized Jensen the most was the ceiling; painted a deep midnight blue with numerous wind chimes dangling from it most of which were designed to resemble celestial bodies.

“Come on in, Jensen.”

Dazzled by the chimes, he blinked and lowered his gaze to where she sat on a deep turquoise cushion with dark blue beaded tassels. Her legs folded in a perfect lotus position. She smiled offering a salacious wink and with that, the tension began to ebb from his body.

“Take off your shoes first though. Considering your occupation who knows what you’ve been tromping through.” Her nose wrinkled up as if she smelled fresh dog shit.

He kicked off his boots, leaving them outside the room, padding across the floor to the table. On either end of the table cones of incense were burning, giving the room a hazy quality, scent of sandalwood thick in the air. Jensen forced himself not to roll his eyes and settled on a crimson cushion across the table from Traci who was busy shuffling a pack of playing cards. She could have made one hell of a card dealer in Vegas the way her hands were moving, he thought.

“Don’t tell me you want to read my cards.” He snorted.

“No worries,” she chuckled. “I could, but I don’t need to, sunshine. Shuffling cards relaxes me.”

“And the incense?” he raised one eyebrow.

Traci laughed, sound reflecting the tinkle of the wind chimes above them. “I like the smell—sue me. So you ready?”

“Sure, sweetheart—hit me.”

Closing her eyes, Traci’s breathing began to slow and even out as she turned her head toward the door. The moment she did, the room grew ice cold. “Calm down, Jared.” The words were a faint whisper. “He says you need to go back.”

“Go back where?” Jensen frowned, rubbing his hands together as the cold increased.

“The studio, but Megan gave you a key you need to use first.”

“What does the key go to?”

She cocked her head to the side as if she were listening to someone speak. “He says you know it belongs to a safety deposit box and you need to quit screwing around.”

Leaning across the table, he studied her face, but she wasn’t paying one lick of attention to him; eyes closed to everything around her. “Ask him what’s in the box?”

“He can hear you just fine.” She sighed.

For a second, Jensen swore he could feel warm fingers graze along his cheek. He leaned into the touch as it dissipated leaving behind the surreal chill of the air and his heart felt as if it were breaking.

“What’s in the box, Jared?”

Traci smiled something secretive in the curve of her glossy lips. “It’s the key to his heart and soul.”

Shuddering, her eyes fluttered open and as sudden as it came the cold was gone. Jensen focused on the window behind her, open to the sunlit garden and allowed the sun’s warmth to seep into him, thawing his skin and his heart skipped a beat.

“Is he…?”

“Gone? Yes, for now.”

Pushing to his feet, Jensen headed for the door his thoughts a whirl of confusion. He hadn’t told anyone he’d met Jared’s sister, not even Chris or Steve, and he sure in the hell didn’t tell anyone about the key ring she’d given him before he left. His entire world, fuck his belief system, turned on its ear in a matter of days. There was no way Traci could have known any of it unless someone had been watching him.

“Jensen.”

He turned to face Traci noting how pale her face was as she lifted a cigarette to trembling lips and lit it. There was something in the slope of her shoulders telling him whatever she was about to say he wasn’t going to like.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled, but the sound was far from amused. “Sometimes talking to the spirits wears me out, especially if they’re as strong as he is.” She inhaled and the tension began to drain from her body. “Jensen did you really see him last night?”

“Excuse me?”

Wide eyes focused on him as a stream of nicotine laced smoke encircled her head. “Jared says you saw him last night. Is that why you…” the words hung unspoken between them as she nodded at his bandaged hands.

Jensen glanced down flexing his fingers the pull of the stitches in his palms a constant reminder of the man who haunted him. Neither of the women had asked about his hands until now and he figured Sam had explained what had happened. “Cut them on broken glass.” He offered no further detail and he wouldn’t. To do so was to let them set him up if Traci and Loretta weren’t the real deal.

“There’s something he asked me to tell you.”

“And what would that be?” he growled turning his back to her.

He could hear her take a deep calming breath and wondered what was so bad she was having a hard time voicing it.

“He said he was cold, but he isn’t dead.”

Jensen walked out of the room without another word, hands shaking.


	11. Chapter 11

They talked neither about Traci nor his time alone with her the entire trip back to his office. Sam didn’t ask and he didn’t offer. Both seemed lost in their own private thoughts. Whether Sam was curious or not about what the younger woman had told Jensen, remained a mystery until she pulled the truck up in front of the building.

As he pushed open the passenger door, Sam cleared her throat and he turned to meet her worried gaze. “What’s wrong, Sam?”

“Look, kid, I should have warned you where we were going. I know you don’t put much stock in…”

He flashed a quick smile. “Don’t worry if nothing else I’m flexible. Have to be in this business.”

Sam considered his words for a moment. “What did she tell you?”

Pushing the door shut, Jensen leaned down to peer through the truck’s window. “Honest? Nothing I didn’t already know.”

With a quick nod, she shifted the truck in gear and drove away, leaving Jensen to watch her with a faint sense of guilt for dropping a white lie. He wasn’t quite sure what Traci had meant when she’d said the safety deposit box held the key to Jared’s heart and soul but he was damn sure he was going to figure it out. The last thing she’d said he refused to think about—at least not yet. Heading for the front door, he pushed it open and then paused, two steps in with a smirk.

“Quit lurking, Collins!” he yelled over his shoulder.

From the shadowy alley to the right, Detective Collins approached coat swirling around his calves. “How did you know?”

Jensen let out a huff. “Dude, no one wears a trench in LA unless its leather.”

Looking down at his wrinkled suit and even more wrinkled coat, Misha shrugged and moved to catch up. “Old habits.” he replied as Jensen held the door open for him.

“You stand out like a mini-skirt on Lady Liberty.” Snorting he headed for the old freight elevator too damned tired to be bothered with the stairs.

"So where did you go?” Misha inquired as they waited for the elevator.

Jensen snorted his gaze focusing on the lowering elevator. “As if you don’t know, Collins, I’m sure Ferris blabbed her plans to you.”

“Why would she do that?” he cocked his head frowning as he studied Jensen’s expression. “I just met her last night.”

The loud clang of the elevator settling halted any further conversation between the two men as Jensen unlocked the cage. Stepping inside, he slammed shut the door and hit three with a bit more force than necessary. As it lurched upward, he cleared his throat glancing at Misha from the corner of his eye. “I thought all cops were thick as thieves.”

Misha threw back his head laughing hard enough to rock the elevator. “Even if that were true, which it’s not, Samantha Ferris isn’t a police officer.”

“Yeah, but her husband was.”

“I didn’t realize…” sorrow shone in his eyes.

Jensen shrugged and leaned back against the cool metal arms crossed. “It was a long time ago before I ever met her. She doesn’t talk much about it.”

“I don’t suppose she would.” Misha mimicked Jensen’s pose on the opposite wall. “It’s not easy to lose the ones you love.”

That was the second time Misha had mentioned losing loved ones. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to intrude. Humming softly, Jensen stared up at the roof of the elevator and contemplated something his mama had said about learning things, no matter how painful—Just get it out like pulling a band-aid off a wound, quick as a rattle snake strike. Granted Misha’s private life was none of his business, but he was starting to trust the guy and he was going to need his help. He could feel it in his gut.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Misha stared across the space separating them. “You want to know who I lost.”

“Yeah, but if you want me to mind my own fucking…”

“My wife and son.” those few words said everything. “Who did you lose?”

Jensen released a ragged breath. There were secrets and then there were secrets. When he thought of the secret, the one he’d never shared with anyone, his stomach dropped as if he’d swallowed a lead weight. Misha had been honest with him and he owed the same to the man.

“When I was sixteen I came out and it was terrifying. I expected so much except what happened. My parents were true Christians and they accepted me as I was. I couldn’t say the same for the rest of my friends. There was this guy,” his throat tightened as memories rose up that hadn’t seen daylight in too damn long. “His name was Justin. He was smart, gorgeous and everything I’d ever wanted. I was tired of hiding. He was scared not to hide. Some of our friends put two and two together, figured out we were together. Justin panicked and no matter what I said it wasn’t enough.”

“He killed himself—didn’t he?”

Jensen looked up, eyes glistening. “I like to tell myself I have no regrets. I like to tell myself I’m fine with my life. You know what?” hand lifting he swiped at his eyes. “I’m a fucking liar. I lost Justin and it was my fault.”

As the elevator came to a stop, Misha reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Justin made his choice—period.” He turned, pulled open the cage door, and headed for Jensen’s office calling over his shoulder. “Are you coming or what? We have some serious work to do.”

#  
The cold was the worst part. It surrounded him in a cloud of dampness that seeped through skin, muscle and dug razor sharp claws into the marrow of his bones. It felt as if his blood was frozen slush, barely moving in his veins. His lungs ached with it until there was nothing except him and the cold.

There were moments though when he caught glimpses of warmth.

Jensen had been one of those moments, warmth flowing out and washing over his body—or was it his body?—in a wave. He knew why he’d felt Jensen despite the cold threatening to consume him.

He’d always felt there was someone out there in the shadows waiting for him, looking as desperately as he was for their other half. Three times in his life he’d felt as if they were close enough to touch. The feeling if he turned quick enough they would be standing at his side. He could never turn fast enough though.

He’d seen Jensen again today, but this time Jensen hadn’t seen him. There was a hopelessness surrounding him, a miasma of fear and loathing when they refused to see the truth.

He wasn’t dead.

He couldn’t be dead.

If he was dead, why could he still feel?

Why was he still here?

#

 

Megan Padalecki knew if her brother were dead, she would feel it. She’d told no one how she felt not Genevieve or her family. She wandered the house and grounds each weekend she returned to Los Angeles, looking, searching for some clue to what had happened to her brother, but it seemed hopeless.

Now she was meandering through the garden behind the house one of only two places in the entire monstrosity that seemed a part of him. The other was his studio, but until yesterday she hadn’t been able to step foot in there. Maybe it was because she was afraid to face the truth that she’d convinced herself Jared was out there somewhere waiting to be found, alive and well. Their father could have cared less one way or another. Jeff their oldest brother was more willing to believe Jared had leapt to his death than think—God forbid—he’d faked his own death.

She closed her eyes, leaning into a huge rose-colored hibiscus bloom and inhaled the fragrance drifting on the mid-afternoon air. Jared had always been different, she thought not because he was gay, but because of the heart beating in his chest. His heart had been so full of love and joy when they were children.

Memories of setting at the edge of the lake on their grandfather’s farm outside of San Antonio drifted to the surface. The sun would be setting and the sky was a palette of colors only nature was capable of creating. He’d tell her stories about what lurked beneath the sparkling water of the lake, his words like a painter’s brush on a blank white canvas.

Their father had never approved of what he referred to as Jared’s flighty behavior. He believed in a strong education and a solid career choice. They fought as Jared grew older and when he decided to come out at seventeen their father had thrown him out, disowned him for his own twisted beliefs. That day had been the worst of her young life. Not only had she lost a big brother, but her best friend and devastated didn’t begin to describe how she felt.

Meggie...can you hear me?

Jerking up, eyes flying open, she nearly lost her footing when she turned eyes going wide at the sight before her. Jared was standing at the end of the stone path leading back to the house. She would know him anywhere even though he was standing in the shadows.

“Jay,” she choked. “Is it really you?”

He stepped forward and her heart shattered. Either she was hallucinating or her brother was dead because what stood there was no living human. Clothes soaked, hair hanging in his deathly pale face as he reached out toward her and she could smell the salt tinged dampness of the ocean as he stepped closer.

Don’t be scared, Meggie…please…

“Oh, God, Jay.” one hand clamped over her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.  
Please don’t cry…I’m not dead…

Her tears fell, sunlight catching in them as they trailed down her face. He seemed so real, but if this were real then she would have to accept he was no longer among the living and it was too much. Chest tightening, she fell to her knees not giving a damn if she ever got up again.

Meggie…tell Jensen to find the book…

Before she could ask what book, he was gone leaving her to collect the shattered pieces of her heart all over again. It wasn’t until an hour later as she sat alone in a local coffee house gulping down black coffee she realized what he’d said.

Jared hadn’t known Jensen.

Jensen was a private investigator that bitch Genevieve had hired to ease her own guilt over Jared’s death. There was no way he could know Jensen—right? She needed to call Jensen, tell him what she’d seen, but the question was would he believe her?

At this point, she didn’t even believe it herself.


	12. Chapter 12

Misha strolled around Jensen’s office taking in everything around him with a bemused expression despite being in an exhausted state. Jensen was damn sure, considering Misha’s background he was more than likely profiling him. The idea amused him rather than irritated him. More people than he cared to count had tried that little trick; including many of his lovers over the years. Hell he’d even dated a third year Psych Major and Jake couldn’t even nail him to the wall. Misha was the only one he’d ever confessed his secret to though.

“So what’s the verdict? Crazed psychopath or pathetic loser?”

He offered Jensen a genuine smile and shook his head. “That’s not how it works despite what Hollywood would have you believe. After all, you have forty-five minutes to profile and capture the killer on television. I doubt there’s anything quite on pare of psychotic behavior in your case. Some of us simply choose to create a barrier between ourselves and society as our way to deal with various emotions.”

“Like grief.” He turned to stare out the window.

“And guilt.”

Jensen inhaled breath shaky and thrust his hands into his pockets. “My brain tells me there was nothing I could do about Justin—you know? But my heart is a different matter.”

“Maybe that’s why you haven’t given up on him?” Misha mused as he shucked his coat folding it over the back of a chair.

“Who’re talking about?” Jensen’s eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“Jared, of course—who else would I be talking about?”

Of course, he would be talking about Jared, Jensen thought. They were here because of Jared. It was because of him he’d met Misha and confessed something he hadn’t even told his own parents. There was something familiar about this stranger and almost like home. Jared hadn’t seemed a stranger from the moment he’d laid eyes on his photo; he seemed less so after Jensen had seen his work. It was almost as if…

“What is it?”

Misha’s gentle inquiry pulled him from his thoughts. “Have you ever met someone who you felt you’d known your entire life?”

“My wife.” he whispered. “We met when we were both fourteen. It was…” Misha’s voice trailed off followed by a chuckle. “I doubt you’re a spiritual man, but it was as if we were soul mates.”

“Soul mates, seriously?”

“Yes. She finished my sentences, knew what I was thinking even when I didn’t and from the moment we met I couldn’t imagine my life without her. We were the best of friends and when we were eighteen we became lovers.”

Jensen sighed. “It must have been nice to have someone like that in your life.”

“It was the best thing in the world and when I…well let’s just say I doubt anyone will ever take her place.”

It was too much to deal with right now. The last thing Jensen ever thought was he would fall in love—real love—and to make matters worse he’d fallen in love with a dead man. The only thing he could do at this point was find the bastard who’d killed Jared, make him pay for his transgressions. It was the least he could do for the kid.

His shoulders straightened as he turned to face Misha. “Let’s get to work, Collins. I have a murderer to catch.”

“Don’t you mean we have a murderer to catch?”

Jensen smiled. Guess not all cops were dicks after all.

#  
Sitting at the patio table, Loretta sipped a glass of tea staring down at the cards Traci had been laying out repeatedly. No matter what the younger woman saw in the layout, she never seemed pleased becoming more frustrated with every passing minute. She could see it in the set of her shoulders and the creases around her eyes not to mention the mound of cigarette butts in the ashtray.

Loretta wondered if she’d ever been this impatient. “Fate cannot be changed, girl, I’ve done told you that a million times.”

Traci glanced up from the newest layout, cigarette dangling from her lips. “It’s not a matter of fate.”

Leaning forward, Loretta sat her glass aside, fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Then what is it?”

“It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.” She flicked ash from her cigarette, taking another drag. “I keep getting the same shit.”

Loretta sighed. “It might help if you humor me and explain what you’re seeing.”

“Water.” she exhaled a cloud of smoke and began gathering the cards again. “Dark, cold water, and I smell this antiseptic odor, reminds me of a hospital.”

“That boy was at the hospital before Sam brought him to us. Perhaps…”

“No.” Traci shook her head. “It’s not that and there’s something else as well.”

One eyebrow lifting, Loretta leaned back in her chair. “Cough it up.”

“The spirit it’s attached to him in some way I’ve never seen before.”

“Is it the boy?”

“Yes. He spoke to me, but he wanted me to tell Jensen…”

She paused, taking another drag from her cigarette and Loretta noticed the slight tremor in her hand. Traci’s state of mind was worrisome because she couldn’t imagine anything quite so bad it would shake her. They’d know one another for fifteen years and in all those years, she’d never seen the other woman this wound up. 

“Keeping it a secret isn’t helping nothing especially you. Like I said cough it up.”

Traci exhaled, long slow breath, twisting an errant strand of hair around one finger. “He told me he wasn’t dead, Loretta. That’s impossible. He’s a spirit and if he’s a spirit then he’s dead—right?”

“Perhaps, he’s a lost soul.” The older woman offered glancing down at the cards spread across the table. “It’s not unheard of for the dead to be unable to accept their own deaths especially with suicide and murder.”

“He didn’t kill himself.”

Loretta glanced up in time to see the tears in Traci’s eyes before she stood and walked away from the table. She watched as the younger woman reached out, fingertips drifting over the lush green leaves of the azalea bushes she’d planted when they first purchased the property. They reminded her of home and her grandmother in particular the pale purple blossoms frail as tissue paper yet stronger than one would think.

“I know.” She whispered eyes going dark. “The boy would have never taken his own life.” Glancing toward the door leading into the shop she spied faint movement trapped in the shadows and a glimpse of sorrowful hazel eyes. “All we can do is pray.”

“For what?” voice cracking around the edges Traci glanced at Loretta, eyes wet with tears she refused to accept. No spirit had ever touched her as Jared had.

“For the other one to see the light as he was always meant to, sweetheart.”

#

 

Weaving in and out of traffic, Megan Padalecki realized if she honked the horn one more time her hand would be permanently stuck in center of the steering wheel. She’d sat for hours—three to be approximate—in the coffee shop chugging black coffee and trying to convince her mind of the impossibility of the experience in the garden. Yes, she’d prayed they were all wrong. Hoped her brother was alive somewhere, but as weeks had become months the possibility of finding Jared alive had become harder to cling to. There had still been a small spark of hope in her heart until today though.

Jared was dead.

She tried to accept those words even as her vision blurred around the edges. He had to be dead; it was either that (and she’d seen his ghost) or she had lost her mind. She preferred the former to the latter. What she couldn’t figure out was the request his phantom had made of her. What book was he referring to and why did he insist she tell Jensen he had to find it? Of all the things she’d imagined over the past three months, this hadn’t been one of them. She’d finally discovered Jared was gone from this earth and he chose a stranger over her to discover the truth behind his death. It wasn’t fair, but then most of her life hadn’t been fair.

After what seemed hours of navigating the hideous Los Angeles traffic (and she’d thought Dallas was bad) she pulled into a parking spot outside the address on the card Jensen had given her. Cutting the engine, she glanced up through the windshield at the towering brick façade and studied the details in the architecture. The building dated from the late twenties or early thirties—a warehouse for one of many businesses that had faded away in the past eighty years under the onslaught of importing rather than buying American.

She could have easily called the cell number on the card, but if she were going to tell Jensen the truth, she was going to do it to his face. She owed at least that much to her brother if not to herself.

Taking a deep breath she glanced in the rear view mirror sure she must look a wreck after her mad dash through downtown LA. To her horror, she saw Jared sitting in the back seat and a cry lodged in her throat. Dear, God was he haunting her for not fighting to find him sooner.

Meggie, hurry…please.  
The cry finally escaped as she spun to face an empty backseat. No sign of her deceased brother’s pale, pleading face. She closed her eyes, sending out a silent prayer to whatever god refused her brother eternal rest and then pushed open the door to step into the fading twilight.

#  
They’d been at it for an hour or so, neither speaking as they went over every bit of information they had on the Padalecki case. Misha appeared more rumpled than usual, the constant motion of his hand through his hair sending the dark strands helter-skelter, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow and tie loose at his throat. Jensen doubted he was fairing any better considering the constant throb in his bandaged hands and overwhelming desire for whiskey and a cigarette.

“Coffee?” he cleared his throat, pushing the chair back to stand.

The expression of gratitude in Misha’s eyes was bordering on hero-worship, amusing Jensen to no end. “Yes, thanks.” Was the only thing he managed before focusing on the papers scattered on the table, again.

He headed into his studio straight for the tiny kitchenette with its faux marble counter and small white enamel stove probably older than he was. Making a beeline for the refrigerator, he opened the door and spied a familiar red canister with a relieved sigh. At least there was coffee he thought as he grabbed the container and kicked the door shut. Coffee was the nectar of the gods in his world. Had he been able to pump it straight into his blood stream via an IV he would have.

Behind him through the office door, the sound of Misha shuffling papers reached his ears as he prepared the ancient Mr. Coffee. On occasion, the sound stopped replaced by the cop scribbling notes on the faded yellow legal pad at his elbow. There had been no discussion of why suddenly Misha felt the need to offer his help, but Jensen wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Misha was here and he was damn grateful considering how cock-eyed his head was since last night’s bizarre incident.

As he waited for the coffee to brew, he began to pace the small apartment stretching the kinks out of his neck. He wondered what Misha would make of the personal space if he dared analyze it. The place consisted of one room serving as both living and bedroom, bathroom with a tub-shower combo, and the kitchenette. There wasn’t much in the way of personal effects although there were a few. A cheap bookcase served as a nightstand next to a fold out sofa, collection of paperback detective novels stacked on the bottom shelves and a black gooseneck lamp on top. 

On the windowsill above the sofa was a collection of framed pictures the first taken at his high school graduation with his parents. The others were snapshots of his life in Los Angeles, he and Tom at some sports bar, his baby sister Mackenzie at Grauman’s Chinese Theater, Chris and Steve celebrating the grand opening of The Bayou and other moments captured on film. He choked up though when his eyes settled on the final photo hidden amongst the others. It was a photo taken on a hot summer day in Texas at a traveling carnival when he was fifteen; arm slung around the shoulders of a smiling blonde boy a bit taller than he was.

Picking up the photo, he sighed. Justin was his first love, the guy he’d thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, but it hadn’t been. His heart ached still for that mischievous smile and sparkling brown eyes. In the beginning entangled together, it was impossible to say who had made the first move; friends who’d discovered they were in love despite the world. Jensen wondered what Justin would have looked like now had he not died. Would he be handsome? Perhaps, he would have been taller still. He huffed out a warm breath fogging the glass in the frame. None of it matter though and thinking about it only amounted to self-flagellation. Misha was right—Justin had made his own choice.

“Is that him?”

Jensen turned offering Misha a sad smile. “Yeah, we were both fifteen.”

Misha took the picture from his hand, studying it with a curious expression. “You seemed…” he stopped mid-thought and brought the picture closer to his face squinting, “That’s…shit!”

He took off back to the office, framed photo in hand and Jensen looked at him as if he were nuttier than his grandmother’s fruitcake before heading after him. By the time he reached the office door, Misha was tearing through a stack of files, frame sitting on the desk face up. He was mumbling beneath his breath words indecipherable to Jensen’s ears.

“Have you finally lost your mind, Collins?”

Misha shook his head, never bothering to glance up from his mad shuffling. “I know I had a picture here somewhere. His sister gave it to me when she came up the first time from Dallas. It was her way of trying to guilt me into…a-ha!” he ripped a faded photo from the stack and waved it at Jensen. “Look at this and then look at your photo.”

Accepting the photo, Jensen glanced at it. It was a family photo taken in front of what appeared to be an old farmhouse; white peeling paint with faded green shutters. There was a tall muscular man in button down and khaki work pants, dark hair speckled with gray and arm encircling a willowy beauty with chestnut hair brushing her shoulders. In front of them were two young boys one around twelve or thirteen and another around maybe five or six. The woman held an infant in her arms so the photographer could see the tiny face. Everyone present was smiling wide—atypical for family photos. He turned the photo over in his hand and read the flowery script on the back.

Sherri & Gerry with the kids July 1987 (Jeff, Jared, & Baby Megan)  
He raised one eyebrow and then picked up the photo of him and Justin. At first, he didn’t see what the hell Misha was talking about and then it caught his eye. Slightly out of focus and in the background was a boy around ten or so and there was no doubt in Jensen’s mind who the boy was—Jared. His eyes flicked from one photo to the other and then he lifted his head meeting Misha’s wide eyes.

“This is impossible.” he whispered color draining from his face. “It’s Jared.”

“Improbable maybe, but not impossible—you both grew up in Texas—right?”

Jensen shook his head. “Yeah, but Texas is one huge fucking state. We grew up hundreds of miles apart in different towns. It’s just…” he paused swallowing hard.

“What is it?”

“I remember that day. Hell, I remember the kid. Justin and I were riding the Ferris wheel at the carnival the first time I noticed him.”

#

August 1992  
Plainview, Texas  
His Uncle Will was going to be pissed when he discovered them gone. He and Justin had snuck out of the house and hitched to the carnival, a few miles outside of town. Jensen was flying high on adrenaline, heart thundering with the excitement of doing something he sure in the hell would get his hide tanned for, but it didn’t matter. He was tired of his family treating him as if he were a baby. He was fourteen nearly fifteen. Soon he’d have his driver’s permit and he’d have just a short wait before he would have his permanent license and his freedom with it.

“Jensen! Come on asshole!”

He grinned wide and ran to catch up with Justin who was stuffing sky blue cotton candy in his mouth, lips tinged blue from the sugary treat. Jensen wanted to lick the sweetness from Justin’s lips so bad, but he knew Justin was right. They’d discovered more than a month ago they were more than friends, being gay wasn’t something they needed to advertise. If they did find out he was damn sure his mama and daddy would throw a fit worthy of a Texas twister and separate him from the one person who got him better than anyone else.

So, instead of kissing Justin, he reached over, snatched a section of sticky spun sugar, and shoved it in his mouth, smacking his lips as he avoided the playful punch Justin aimed his way.

“Get your own cotton candy, butt munch.” Justin snickered as he swung out one foot planting a dusty footprint on Jensen’s denim clad ass.

There were a hell of a lot of replies to that, but none was appropriate for the crowded fairway. He busted out laughing as he circled Justin kicking up the dry Texas dirt and making goofy faces at him.

“Ferris wheel next?” Justin suggested with a broad grin. “I hear you can see all of Hale County from the top.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “It isn’t that damn tall, dork.”

“Wanna bet?” a gleam of amusement shone bright in Justin’s rich brown eyes. “I’ll bet you twenty dollars we can see the county courthouse from the top.”

“Yeah, but that isn’t the whole county.”

Justin snickered. “Might as well be, isn’t much else to see out there.”

Folding his arms over his skinny chest, Jensen huffed. “I’m sure you’re right about the courthouse, but you aren’t getting the twenty Uncle Will paid me for mucking the horse stalls.”

“Fine, let’s go ride it anyway.”

By the time, they reached the opposite end of the fairway it was close to dusk, sky turning twilight blue edged with rose and gold. The lights encircling the Ferris wheel lit up like a Christmas tree and for some reason the idea of going to the top with Justin made his stomach squirm, but in a good way.

Standing in line, Jensen watched the people around him and studied them as if they were insects beneath a microscope. He’d always loved watching people, but tonight he felt as if he were looking for someone specific. Over the years, he’d had the same feeling on occasion and he wondered if there was someone out there looking for him too. His grandmamma had told him once every soul God made had a matching half and together they were a whole. Some souls she explained could feel when their other half was near. It was this feeling that allowed them to find one another in the world. That was silly though, he already had Justin, and he was sure Justin was his other half.

Humming softly, legs swinging back and forth as he sat on the metal fence herding the riders along he felt a prickle at the base of his neck. Frown firmly in place Jensen turned and searched the long line eyes coming to rest on a single figure. He’d never seen the kid before and wondered if he was from a neighboring town. Around ten, the kid’s shaggy chestnut hair hung in eyes that reminded Jensen of one of the numerous cats roaming Uncle Will’s barn. He was dressed in faded jeans and an olive green camouflage tee shirt. Something seemed familiar about the boy, but Jensen was sure he hadn’t seen him before tonight.

When the kid noticed him he smiled, teeth bright against his caramel skin and it was the most beautiful smile Jensen had ever seen. The kid resembled a playful kitten with almond shaped eyes, broad nose and pointed chin. Beneath his high cheekbones, two perfect dimples cleaved his face and his eyes sparkled with mischief. They stared at one another for so long had they been adults one might have thought it unseemly. The spell was broken though when Justin called out to Jensen. Hopping off the fence, he raced to catch up with his friend.

“What were you looking at?”

Jensen turned back to see if he could spot the kid in the sea of people. “There was…” he paused unable to find the little boy then shook his head, “Never mind.”

He saw the kid one more time before they left the carnival. Standing alone at the edge of the fairway, he was staring up at the sky as if he were counting the stars, the expression on his face one of abject misery. Jensen almost turned around and went to him, but Justin tugged on his shirtsleeve and demanded he quit zoning. If they didn’t get home soon his Uncle Will was going to tan both their hides.

#  
“Jensen?”

He glanced at Misha noting the concerned expression on the cop’s face. The memory of that long ago excursion to the carnival clung to him like strands of sticky cotton candy. Until now, he’d forgotten about the boy, but the feeling of looking for someone never had left him. It haunted him for years from the plains of Texas to the streets of Los Angeles he’d never lost it.

“I saw him, Misha.” his voice barely audible in the quiet office. “I saw him all those years ago and I forgot.”

“You were just a kid. Our memories sometimes fade with age.”

A lump rose in his throat threatening to choke off any attempt to breath. It made no sense what he was thinking, but if what his grandmamma had told him all those years ago was true, the something he’d always been searching for was gone now. There was no hope of ever finding it; at least not in this world.

“Jensen what is it?” Misha stepped closer, taking the photos from his shaking hands. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Laughter slipped past his lips weak, watery at best, as a single tear trailed down his cheek. “Tell me something. Do you believe in fate?”

Misha quirked one eyebrow in curiosity sat the photos down and leaned against the edge of the desk. “Fate versus free-will is something we all battle with, especially if we were raised in a religious home. I prefer to believe we all have a path, but we chose the way—whether difficult or easy—to that path.”

“So, you believe in a higher power?” he swiped at his face embarrassed by the tears coating it now.

“I do. Otherwise what would be the point of this?” He lifted one hand waving it around him. “I don’t think this is the only existence and humanity is conceited to believe they and their world are the only intelligence in the universe.”

Jensen huffed. “So you believe in little green men.”

Throwing back his head, Misha laughed. “Not a chance in hell, man!”

Just as Jensen started to reply, someone pounded on the door of the office. Habit was a hard thing to break and both men drew their guns, making their way to the door. The window boarded up didn’t give them any idea who was beating at it as if the Devil himself were on their asses. Then a voice rose from the hall.

“Jensen! Damn it to hell, open the fucking door!”

Jensen’s eyes went wide. “Megan?”

“Yes, Megan! Now open the damned door!”

Tucking the gun in at the back of his waist, he unlocked and opened the door, suddenly finding himself with an armful of Megan Padalecki. She was chalky white and tears shone in her wild eyes. She clung to him, ducking her head to hide her face in his broad shoulder. Glancing up, Jensen mouthed ‘What the fuck?’ only to have Misha shrug as he tucked his own gun away.

“Megan, what the hell happened?” Jensen tried to get another look at her face, but she shook her head and burrowed deeper into his shoulder.

A few seconds passed and then she lifted her head. “I saw him. I saw my brother.”


	13. Chapter 13

“So, you saw Jared—twice?”

Megan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and huffed in irritation. “Don’t look at me like I’ve lost my ever loving mind, Detective Collins. I’m not drunk, high, or hallucinating. I saw him in the garden clear as day, but he was…”

“Dripping wet?” Jensen offered.

She turned to face him, bloodshot eyes boring through him. “You’ve seen him, too?”

“Yes, last night and it wasn’t the first time I’ve saw him.”

The divulgence of what he’d seen the prior night, hell in the past few days, wasn’t easy. Actually, it was the hardest thing he’d done so far in this cluster fuck of a case. Seeing ghosts was not something you confessed unless you were planning on being lock up in a mental facility.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Megan demanded.

“Would you have believed him?”

She turned back to Misha with a sniff. “Probably not, hell I’m having a hard enough time admitting it to myself.”

Jensen snorted. “Tell me about it. Believing in ghosts isn’t on my top-ten list of things to do either, but he was standing right in front of my office door.”

“He had a message for you.”

Turning from the window, Jensen met her dark eyes with trepidation. “He had a message—about what?”

“It didn’t make any sense to me. Something about a book you needed to find.” she glanced up with a frown. “Does that mean anything to you?

Jensen shook his head. “No, not really, does it ring a bell with you, Collins?”

“Maybe.” he moved to the desk and began going through one of the files he’d brought with him. “The second interview I did after I was assigned the case was with….yeah here it is. A friend of Jared’s, a guy named Murray.”

Eyebrows raising Megan pushed up from her seat. “Chad? I didn’t think Jay was still talking to Chad.”

"You know this guy Murray?"

“Yes and no. I’ve never personally met him, but he was one of the first people Jared met after he moved to LA. He’s a bartender at a club Jared frequented.”

“Was he bartending at the Front Page?” Jensen asked.

“Sometimes, but his main gig was the Blue Lagoon.”

Misha frowned. “But the Front Page is a gay club isn’t it.”

“Yeah, but his gal pal owned the place some woman named Sophia.”

“Sophia Bush.” Misha confirmed. “She and Jared were friends as well. I wasn’t able to interview her at the time because she was out of town on a business trip. Maybe it’s time we had a talk with Sophia and another chat with Mr. Murray. He mentioned a journal Jared kept in his first interview, but we were never able to find it.”

Deep in thought, Jensen chewed his lower lip. “That might be the book he told you about Megan. Did he ever mention keeping a journal?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t mention anything, but…”

“What?” both men asked spontaneously.

“When we were kids he used to keep a spiral bound sketchbook with him. He was always doodling in it, but he never showed anyone what was in it. Could that be the journal this Murray mentioned?”

“Don’t know.” Jensen admitted. “But I’m about to find out.”

#

After making sure Megan was okay to drive back to house (she was damned shook up, not that Jensen blamed her) he and Misha headed out to The Front Page in West Hollywood. Unlike a number of the clubs peppering Hollywood and the greater Los Angeles area, this one was more about class than about hooking up for a piece of ass. Jensen could see why Jared had liked this place. He almost felt as if when he walked through the door he’d travelled into the past.

There was a stage draped in deep crimson velvet at the back of the wide-open space, brick pillars holding up the ceiling at intervals. From all appearances, the building once had been offices, but now the pillars were all that remained of the dividing walls. Round tables covered in crisp white linens filled up the floor, elegant floral centerpieces sat on each table, and the lighting was subtle enough to invoke an intimacy you rarely found in most places.

Misha let out a long low whistle and for a minute, Jensen thought it was commentary on the classy elegance surrounding them until he turned around. As his eyes settled on the woman heading in their direction he reconsidered the entire time travel thing. He didn’t just believe they might have stepped back in time he was damned sure they had.

The woman was petite, perhaps 5’ 4” and curved in all the right places, dark hair cascading around her shoulders. The dress she wore was retro, deep crimson, baring her creamy shoulders, waist cinched with a black sash emphasizing the swell of her hips. It clung to her body like a second skin and Jensen was sure if he looked down Misha would be sporting a boner like no one’s business.

Horny cops, he thought grin splitting his face.

She flipped her hair over one shoulder, pursed scarlet lips as one perfect eyebrow raised. “So, boys what can I do for you?”

“Sophia Bush?” he inquired thinking Misha at least had the decency to look embarrassed about the tent in his slacks.

Her smoky eyes narrowed. “Who’s asking?”

Jensen pulled out a business card and offered it. “Jensen Ackles. I’m a private investigator.”

She eyed him up and down then accepted the offered card, their fingers grazing and sending an electric shock through Jensen’s arm. “Well, Jensen Ackles, PI I’m Sophia Bush owner of this establishment. What can I do for you?”

“We need to speak with you about a Jared Padalecki.”

For a split-second, the cool exterior slipped flash of panic in her rich hazel eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “He’s dead what more can I say?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Ms. Bush.” Misha spoke up. “And even if he is we haven’t caught his killer yet.”

The color drained from Sophia’s face and she turned away from them. Jensen thought she was going to pass out for a second, but instead she made her way to the bar on unsteady legs. He glanced at Misha, who nodded, and they followed her.

Stepping behind the dark wood bar, Sophia opened a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label and proceeded to pour three glasses. Her hands trembled yet she managed not to waste a drop. Pushing two of the glasses toward them without a word, she lifted the third and drained it dry in the blink of an eye.

“Ms. Bush, are you…?” Misha began.

She silenced him with a wave of her hand and proceeded to pour a second drink for herself this time sipping the whiskey in a more lady-like fashion. Both men watched her, sipping their own drinks knowing something was about to explode in their faces.

Lowering her glass, Sophia blotted her lips with a cocktail napkin and began to fold it as she spoke. “I thought the police stamped Jared’s death a suicide.”

“They did.” Jensen replied. “Detective Collins here was the one in charge of the investigation.”

Sophia glanced up from the napkin in her hands, errant curl falling in her eyes. “Then what the hell has changed? He’s been gone for three months. Why the sudden interest after all this time?”

Jensen lifted his glass and took another drink, licking his lips, nerves on edge. “I was hired by Jared’s fiancée to look into his death.”

Snorting Sophia tossed back the remainder of the whiskey in her glass, “That fucking bitch Genevieve? What a damn joke.” She grabbed the bottle and poured another shot.

“You seem to have a low opinion of Ms. Cortese.” Misha mused. “Care to elaborate.”

Bitter laughter was Sophia’s reaction. “Are you serious, Detective Collins? If you were in charge of the investigation you should have gotten a damn good look at the woman and her precious circle of elite friends.”

“Are you saying she had something to do with Jared’s death?” Jensen asked.

Sophia shook her head, curls bouncing against her slouched shoulders. “If she didn’t then she sure and the hell knows who did. Jared would have never killed himself. Especially not after everything he went through to get where he was.”

Jensen was damned sure he knew what she was talking about, but he was going to feign ignorance for the moment. “Care to share your insight, Ms. Bush?”

Eyes narrowing she sniffed. “Didn’t Detective Collins share what he knows with you?”

“Let’s say he didn’t.”

“Okay, Mr. Ackles, let’s say that.” Taking a sip of her third drink, Sophia cleared her throat. “When Jared was seventeen his parents kicked him out. He ended up living on the streets. When you live on the streets, you do what’s required—no matter how bad—to survive. Jay hooked up with a sleazy bastard by the name of Fred Lane. Lane was the head of the local drug cartel in Corpus Christi. At first, he had Jay running for him and then one day he decided it was a waste to have such a hot piece of ass running instead of hooking. Lane had a surprising number of connections in the upper echelon of Texas politics and business. Some of those connections…well let’s just say they were on the down low.”

“As in gay?” one of Jensen’s eyebrows rose.

Sophia snorted. “Not only gay, but they liked shit rough. Most of them weren’t in a position to hang out in public bars and street corners. So, Mr. Lane tossed Jay to the wolves.”

“Jesus.” Misha whispered. “That explains a lot.”

She took another drink, staring down into the glass. “Thing is Jay might have been forced by the bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. He kept a record of every son of a bitch who ever touched him. Even when it got so bad he could barely stand up straight.”

Jensen frowned, “A record?”

“Yes, he kept a journal of names, times, places, money exchanged, and their kinks. I asked him once why he didn’t turn it over to the Feds.” She glanced up gaze moving from Jensen to Misha and back again. “Do you know what he told me? He said he was going to take down the bastards himself. If he gave it to the Feds they’d find away to let the son of a bitches off the hook and that didn’t sit well with him.”

Jensen knew Sophia was telling the truth. He could see it in her body language and the depths of those kaleidoscope eyes—the colors shifting with each emotion. “So what happened?” he looked her straight in the eye. “Did he take them down?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Ackles. What I do know is if anyone knows where to find that journal it’s my idiot ex-husband.”

Misha glanced at Jensen from the corner of his eye, “Your ex-husband? I wasn’t aware you’d been married, Ms. Bush.”

Soft laughter slid past her scarlet lips as one eyebrow quirked. “Very few people do know and I like it that way, detective. Talk to Chad, he owes me big fucking time.” She pulled a matchbook from beneath the bar along with a pen and scribbled a cell number inside the flap. She handed it to Jensen with a smile. “Call that number and tell him Soph is calling in all her favors—okay?”

“Sure thing, ma’am,” he returned her smile curious what favors she’d done for her ex-husband.

From behind them as they headed for the door Sophia’s voice drifted, whiskey rough and twice as tough. “Bitches, please, ma’am is my mother.”

As the door swung shut behind them, Jensen turned to Misha. “You still want to bone her, dude?”

The first real smile he’d seen on Misha’s face since they met appeared along with a wicked gleam in his bright eyes. “Yes, more than ever, young Skywalker.”


	14. Chapter 14

Laying eyes on Chad Michael Murray was one of those moments when Jensen wondered how the hell some people ever hooked up. Where Sophia was a classy beauty (grant you one with a mouth that could make a sailor blush) Chad was the total opposite. He was whipcord thin, nothing but muscle, with spiky blonde hair, bright blue eyes and he was one cocky son of bitch. Although a decent looking guy, he didn’t even come close to being in Sophia’s league. If Jensen had to break it down, he’d describe Chad as a cheap ass street punk.

Chad was leaning against the back wall of The Blue Lagoon dressed in faded jeans, grey tee shirt and worn Doc Marten’s with frayed laces, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He was also looking at Jensen and Misha as if they’d just grown horns and tails.

“Don’t have a fucking clue why Soph would send you to talk to me.” He grunted reaching up to slip the cigarette from his lips and flick ash to the ground. “Jay was my compadre, but he had issues. Doesn’t surprise me he took a nosedive off that cliff. It was bound to happen eventually.”

Jensen leaned one shoulder against the wall, staring at Chad. “Why say that?”

Mouth curling in a sneer, Chad rolled his eyes. “Dude was playing house with that Cortese chick. Broad is plastic as all fuck, has money dripping from her vagina, but seemed clueless he was queer as a three dollar bill. I don’t have a clue why he was playing with the bitch. Thought it was the money at first, but…” he shook his head as he took a drag off the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“What?” Jensen demanded.

Chad glanced up through a cloud of swirling smoke. “Jay had more money than God apparently. Don’t have a fucking clue how he got it. Sure most folks thought it was from his art, but even he didn’t make that much.”

“Sophia seems to think you might be able to help us with locating something.” Misha spoke up from the head of the alley.

“Like what?” Chad raised one eyebrow.

“We're looking for a book that belonged to Jared and might have something to do with his death.” Jensen tried his damnedest not to grab Chad and beat an answer out of him. They didn’t have time for this shit.

Chad’s face paled. “You’re looking for the journal—right?”

“So you do know where it is.” Glancing over his shoulder Misha’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you tell me when I talked to you during the investigation?”

“You didn’t ask.” Chad snapped tossing his cigarette to the ground to crush it beneath the heel of his boot.

“Well, I am now.” Misha spit out. “Where is it?”

“Don’t know for sure.”

Before Chad could say anything further, he found himself pinned to the wall, Misha’s forearm pressed against his throat. Fury flushed his face as he leaned in eyes boring through Chad’s skull. “I’m done you sleazy little bastard.” He hissed. “Now is it you don’t know or is it you don’t want to tell us.”

“Collins, let the guy go!”

He wasn’t sure if Misha had even heard him. The last thing he needed was for the one lead they had to get his neck snapped by an irate police detective. He doubted it would do Misha’s career any good either. Leaning close, breath hot against the curve of Misha’s ear, he whispered. “Don’t kill him—okay?”

“Give me one damn good reason why I shouldn’t, Jensen. Pricks like him are the reason Vickie was…” his voice trailed off. 

Jensen lifted one hand, fingers squeezing Misha’s shoulder. “He’s not the one, man. He didn’t destroy the people you loved. He’s just a smart mouth punk—nothing more.”

Slowly Misha pulled back; arm dropping he turned away leaving Chad to sink to his knees in the alley filth coughing. Jensen could see tremors run through Misha’s body as he pushed back the anger and grief. He got it—he did. Lord knew he’d had his fair share of anger and grief in life, but that didn’t give anyone the right to kill a person. You learned to deal and he was damned sure Misha had never dealt with his.

“He’s fucking nuts.” Chad choked from where he sat rubbing his bruised throat.

Jensen let Misha walk away and held out a hand to Chad. Chad studied it for a moment eyes cautious and then reluctantly accepted the offer. Pulling him to his feet, Jensen met his gaze with a serious expression.

“Was Jared your friend?”

“Yeah, man, he was.”

“Then do me a favor and don’t poke the bear over there. He may be a cop and he may be small, but next time I’ll let him finish the job. Got that, Murray?”

Chad nodded. “Look, I didn’t mean to piss him off. I really don’t know where this book is, but I have something that might help.” Reaching beneath his tee shirt, he pulled a thin strip of leather over his head holding it out to Jensen. A single ancient brass key hung from the end spinning in the faint breeze. “Jay gave this to me a week before he died. Told me I’d know what to do with it if something happened to him. I thought he was kidding and then…well…you know.”

Taking the key, Jensen studied it noting what appeared to be writing engraved on its aged surface. “Do you know what it goes to?”

“Not a clue man, but he told me something else about it.”

Chad frowned. “This isn’t going to make a lick of sense, but he said it was the key to his heart and soul.”

#

When Jensen returned to the car, key gripped so tight it left an impression in his palm, he discovered Misha leaning against the driver’s side door smoking like the proverbial chimneystack. He raised one eyebrow and started to ask, but thought about it for a second and decided he should take his own advice. Do not poke the bear.

Misha dropped the cigarette to the ground and got behind the wheel without a word, waiting for Jensen to join him in the car. Taking his seat Jensen sighed. He wanted to talk about what had happened with Chad yet he knew he shouldn’t instigate the conversation. If Misha wanted to talk about it he would, so Jensen decided they both needed a break. After all, he hadn’t asked for Misha’s help and this wasn’t the cop’s responsibility—it was his.

“I’m sorry.”

The soft tone of Misha’s voice was so different from the previous anger Jensen was close to believing he’d imagined the entire episode in the alley. He was damned sure Chad knew it was real though, considering the bruise across his throat.

“Don’t apologize.” He answered back. “The little twat was starting to piss me off too.”

Misha snorted and turned the key, engine flaring to life. “Don’t make excuses, Ackles. I acted completely unprofessional, but he knew—he fucking knew something about the damn journal other than its existence.”

“Yeah, he did.”

Jensen opened his hand key dropping to dangle in the air, leather thong tangled around his fingers. Glancing at the key, Misha frowned.

“What does it go to?”

Shaking his head, Jensen closed his hand back around the cool metal. “According to Jared it was the key to his heart and soul.”

“What is the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t know, but this is the second time I’ve heard that phrase in two days. I think it’s time to check out the safety deposit box Megan gave me the key to.”

Shifting the car into gear, Misha turned around and headed out of the parking lot back toward the police station. “I can have our tech geeks check both the keys out. Find out what bank the safety deposit box is at and figure out what the other key goes to.”

Jensen rubbed the pad of his thumb over the key deep in thought. “Misha, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why are you helping me?”

If he hadn’t been paying attention, Jensen might not have noticed Misha’s knuckles go white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. He did though and it told him something he already knew. Misha wasn’t telling him everything. He was still hiding something and it was apparently disturbing the man more than he wanted to admit. It was silent in the car for a few minutes and then Misha cleared his throat.

“Like I said earlier I was with the Vickie, my wife, before I ever joined the BAU. We were both psychology majors back East. We’d know each other since we were kids. She encouraged me to take the FBI’s offer despite my own doubts. She was right. I was good at profiling—better than good to be honest. Within a couple of years, I found myself promoted to special agent in charge of my own team. Usually it takes ten or fifteen years for a greenhorn to get that kind of attention.”

“You must have been damn sharp to move up the ranks that quickly.”

Misha flexed his fingers around the steering wheel as he released a breath. “Have you ever heard of the Butterfly Killer?”

Eyes going wide Jensen shifted in the seat. He’d definitely heard of the mad woman who’d terrorized New England for eight months. Female serial killers were rare even he knew that despite a lack of higher education. The press had nicknamed Julie McNiven the Butterfly Killer and there were two reasons why the name was appropriate. One the killer always entered through a window of high-rise apartments and condos usually no lower than the tenth floor as if she flew on wings. The other was after she tortured and raped her female victims she would use a brand to burn a butterfly image above their genitalia.

“You were the lead on that one?”

“Yes, I was. Julie McNiven was the one who killed my wife and son. We had her on the run by then. For some reason she became obsessed with me. It wasn’t until after her arrest the final pieces fell into place. All her victims were single women who she saw as competition for the affections of various men. It turned out her father had remarried when she was twelve. Her stepmother had a butterfly tattoo in the exact place she marked her victims. Julie was a sick woman, had a sexual obsession with her father, an unnatural attachment and when he forced her to leave home at twenty-one because she dropped out of school she snapped. Blamed her stepmother for it, but like most psychopaths she didn’t go after the object of her hate, but rather stand-ins for the woman.”

“Misha you don’t have to tell me…”

He glanced at Jensen from the corner of his eye. “Yes, I do. I’ve held this in too damn long and it cost me my job with the Bureau. That bitch raped, tortured, and murdered my wife in cold blood before I could save her and then…” he began to shake his voice cracking.

"Pull over.”

Misha nodded and pulled into the next parking lot cutting the engine. “I’m sorry, Jensen, about this fucked up mess. I should have never…I gave in to the bureaucrats of the department when I fucking knew Jared didn’t kill himself. After Vickie and my son’s deaths, I lost my way. When the case came across my desk, it was just another missing person. Atypical crap for a city like Los Angeles inhabited with so many lost souls trying to find their way in life. The letter they found wasn’t the voice of a kid about to kill himself. It was a confession.”

“What kind of confession?” he turned to face Misha and the horror he saw in the other man’s eyes cut to his soul.

“Jared was in trouble. He left that letter so Genevieve wouldn’t worry about him. He was leaving LA or settling a score—who knows—but something went horribly wrong. Maybe he’s dead, maybe he’s not either way it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is we need to find the person who did this. The kid suffered enough.”

“Do you think it was Fred Lane, the drug lord?”

Misha shook his head. “No, the Feds are so far up Lane’s ass he can’t fart without them knowing. I think it has something to do with what he did to Jared though. Maybe one of Jared’s clients found him. Maybe they were blackmailing him into taking up where he left off. Who knows? But one thing I do know is he didn’t die by his own hand.”

#

After their conversation, Jensen gave Misha the two keys knowing he could trust the man. He had Misha drop him off at his building went upstairs to soak his sorrows in whiskey and sort his thoughts. Sitting on the end of his bed, he nursed his third glass of JB cigarette forgotten and smoldering in the ashtray and stared at the painting Steve had given him. Part of Jared’s story lay hidden in the shadows of that painting and another part was in the painting leaning against the wall beneath it; the one he’d taken from Jared’s studio the day before. From what he’d gathered, Jared was a good guy. Sure, he had a fucked up past, but then who didn’t?

He sat the glass on the floor and padded across the room until he was within inches of the two canvasses. Kneeling he studied the second painting, unsure what he was looking for, but he knew it was there. He began ticking off the things the two had in common; both were nightscapes, similar color palettes and both had…

“Son of a bitch.” he hissed through his teeth getting to his feet and retrieving his glasses.

Jensen hated wearing glasses always had from the moment he’d found out he was nearsighted. It was apparent he wasn’t nearsighted enough, he thought. Slipping on his glasses, he returned to the paintings and lifted the one from the floor holding it up against the first one. He felt like kicking his own ass if it were possible.

The first time he’d looked at the painting Steve had handed over, he’d noticed how thick the paint was, but explained it away as being Jared’s style. A number of artists used palette knives rather than brushes to texture their paintings, almost giving them a three dimensional appearance. Now he knew there was much more to it than that. The layers of paint were hiding something.

Setting the painting back against the wall he pulled out the hunting knife he always carried and popped the blade. In the left hand corner of the canvas, hanging on the wall, was Jared’s initials and he carefully began to scrape at the paint with the knife blade. As the paint flaked away, drifting to the floor in a shower of color, Jensen knew he’d been right with his assumption. Something flat about the size of a saltine wrapped in plastic lay hidden beneath the layers of paint. Sticking the tip of the blade beneath the plastic, he worked the object loose carefully until it popped free into his hand.

Jensen stared at the object and wondered if he should call Misha then thought better of it. The conversation in the car earlier had been emotionally draining for him and Jensen hoped Misha was at home resting. The guy was going to lose his job at this rate and he didn’t want that on his conscious. Tucking the object in his pocket Jensen retrieved the other painting and walked back to settle on the bed, canvas across his lap. Once he located the familiar signature, he began scraping at the paint on this one as he had the first. Flake after flake peeled away and Jensen had the sudden feeling he wasn’t in control of his own hand as it began to move faster.

There was no doubt Jared had known he was in trouble the night he ended up in San Luis. He’d known for weeks, perhaps months and Jensen was impressed the kid had prepared a trail of breadcrumbs possibly leading to his murderer. The crumbs were random; framed canvas gifted to the owner of one of his favorite hangouts, key to a mysterious safety deposit box, an old fashion brass key handed over to one of his best friends and then another canvas. The problem was the last canvas had been in his studio and Jensen had discovered it; a man who at the tender age of fourteen caught a ten year old boy’s attention at a carnival nearly twenty years prior.

Something unnatural was at work and a chill trailed down Jensen’s spine as the next piece of the puzzle popped off the painting resting in his lap. The knife dropped to the floor with a clatter, canvas sliding off his lap to join it. Without any thought as to what might be so carefully wrapped in the thin plastic, Jensen ripped it open. Inside on a bed of gauze lay a perfect triangle of stained glass in the center was the letter ‘R’. He frowned and reached in his pocket pulling free the first package. Inside he found another perfect triangle of stained glass with a ‘B’ etched into it.

As he sat there staring at the two pieces of colored glass, one in each palm, he began to wonder how he was supposed to react. Two letters, perhaps initials. God only knew, he thought as he stood and walked to the closet. He tucked them away in one of the drawers deciding he needed to get some sleep. Today had been exhausting not to mention he’d just barely scratched the surface of what was going on. He still had a list of people he needed to contact the length of his arm.

Yawning wide he tugged off his tee shirt and dropped his jeans, crawling beneath the tangled blankets. Sleep would be good—definitely good.

#  
It was night, blanket of stars curving over the land and ocean, millions of flickering flames shimmering across midnight blue. The new moon hidden from millions of human eyes only caused the light of the stars to seem brighter.

Jensen knew he was dreaming and he didn’t care. His dreams usually haunted by regrets and horror were for tonight comforting. For one bright shining moment he was experiencing peace and solitude something he rarely encountered. It was nice to feel relaxed for once instead of clawing his way out of a hell of his own making.

He wasn’t sure where he was at first, but then it dawned on him. The painting Steve had given him had come to life in his nocturnal wanderings. Lush grass sparkling with dew spread out beneath his bare feet stretching out and down to the ocean, vanishing in the shadows. To his left was a beautiful late 19th century style house with an attached lighthouse its red roof almost black beneath the stars and towering white walls. It was just as he imagined it would be. Of course, it was his dream and his imagination—right? Walking down the sloping lawn toward the ocean Jensen inhaled the warm salt laden wind caressing his face. As he stood at the cliff’s edge lighthouse behind him and eyes closed he understood why Jared had come to this place. It was heaven. If you stood still, you could hear the Earth herself singing; wind in the trees, the waves on the rocks and the cry of birds gliding over the water.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

He opened his eyes and turned to see Jared standing next to him. This Jared wasn’t the one he’d seen in his office, but rather a healthy man. He was tall, damn tall and Jensen wasn’t a small guy, but Jared was massive. The wind caught in the long waves of his dark hair, whipping it around his face and what a face it was. The photos of Jared had not done the kid justice he was…beautiful.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue, dude?” he turned and smiled down at Jensen, teeth flashing against his honey gold complexion.

“Yeah,” Jensen finally managed. “It’s so…”

“Peaceful.” Jared sighed as he turned to face the ocean again.

The sounds of nature settled around them as they both stood staring out across the water. Neither of them spoke for what seemed forever and then Jared cleared his throat turning to face Jensen. Starlight sparkled in his eyes drawing Jensen in as if he were a ship following the beacon of a lighthouse to safety.

“Do you know why I came here that night?”

Jensen started at his soft words and wondered if he should answer with honesty. His mama had always told him honesty was the best policy so he answered. “They say it was so you could end your own life, but I’m not so sure.”

Jared laughed, deep booming sound that vibrated through Jensen he was so damned close. “God no, I came here looking for you.”

“Me? Why would you be looking for me?”

“Because you always show up when I need you the most.” His eyes moved over Jensen and there was a desperate hunger in them.

“We don’t even know each other.” Jensen whispered, words catching on the wind and spiraling upward as if they were notes in mournful song. “We’ve never met and besides this is a dream.”

“Is it?”

Jared reached out one huge hand cupping Jensen’s jaw. He tipped his head, eyes never leaving Jensen’s face as a flush of heat swept up his throat spreading across his face. This was incredibly wrong, he thought. The way the warmth of Jared’s hand caused his body to react. This was all a figment of an exhausted mind consumed with the need to discover the truth behind the death of the man in front of it.

“Remember the carnival in Plainview?” leaning in he whispered the words in Jensen’s ear, breath warm and sweet, “Because, I do.”

“My dream, my memories, none of this is real.”

Eyes filled with sorrow, Jared turned back to the ocean. “Just because you keep telling yourself it isn’t real doesn’t mean you’re right. That day at the carnival was the first time I saw you, but I’d always been searching. My dad was pissed at me for being what he called lazy and flighty so he sent me away that summer to work on a friend’s farm. His friend was a bastard and he liked what he saw.”

Jensen’s breath caught in his throat. Was Jared telling him what he thought? If so, the kid had been through more than he imagined.

“If this is a dream then how would you know my dad’s friend molested me?”

Right then and there Jensen had the urge to vomit. “I’m sorry for what happened to you, but what does that have to do with me?”

He stepped so close Jensen could feel the heat radiating off his body. “I prayed afterward for an angel to come rescue me. For weeks, I prayed and then that day he decided I deserved a treat. He took me to the carnival. From the moment I stepped on the fairway, I knew you were there. My angel was coming. When I saw you, I knew you were the angel I’d prayed for all those weeks. You were so beautiful, but then you vanished, it left me feeling empty inside.”

Heart aching Jensen lifted his hand to caress the side of Jared’s face. It was impossible this was anything more than a dream yet it felt far more real than anything had in a long time. Urging Jared’s gaze away from the ground their eyes met and he knew then this was anything but a dream. Somehow he was speaking with Jared, hearing his voice, smelling his scent and—

Leaning in he pressed his lips to Jared’s and the taste was salty and sweet, nothing he’d expected. He felt words forming in his throat even as Jared’s lips parted and his hand threaded through his tangled hair—thick and soft as silk between his trembling fingers. The kiss deepened and Jensen felt tears form in his eyes.

As their kiss broke and they pulled back, he looked up at Jared. Before he could stop himself, he said the words he’d refused to speak since Justin had died. “I love you, Jared.”

“I know.” Pressing his brow to Jensen’s he began to weep silent tears. “I’ve always known. I just kept missing you.”

“Missing me?” Jensen pulled away eyes filled with curiosity. “We’ve met more than once?”

Jared nodded. “Four years later in San Antonio I saw you…”

“At Mike’s Roadhouse.” he finished. “Chris and Steve were playing there and you were the gangly kid busing the tables.”

An image of a scrawny young boy no older than fourteen entered Jensen’s mind. He recalled every detail suddenly as if it had happened yesterday. The way the jeans he wore were to short in the leg, bony ankles showing between the frayed hem and the top of his canvas sneakers; the baggy faded blue tee shirt with the v-neck that was two sizes to big revealing the sharp edges of his collarbone. The kid screamed dirt poor and there was an aura of sadness surrounding him.

“My mom knew Mike Rosenbaum the owner and to keep Dad off my ass she asked him to give me a job as a bus boy. I worked there even after Dad kicked me out for a little while.”

“Jared, what are you? Why are you invading my dreams?”

Wide, wet hazel eyes focused on him, leaving behind what dark memories had captured them. “I’m simply a man.” He whispered. “I’m a man who made mistakes and tried to move past them.” His hand sliced through the night wind taking in everything around them. “This place is the only place I could find where I could tell you the truth without you running away.”

Jensen reached up to cup Jared’s face, again. He caressed the pad of his thumb across delicate skin smearing away the tears trailing from those beautiful, soulful eyes. “And what is the truth, Jared?”

The young man’s shoulders slumped as he swallowed back a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “We belong to one another. We always have and soon it will be too late.”

“It already is.” Dropping his hand Jensen went to step back. “You’re dead, Jared. You’ve been dead for weeks. All I can do now is find the bastard that killed you. Make him pay for what he’s done to you.”

Jared shook his head, shaggy bangs falling in his face. “You’re wrong, Jensen. I’m not dead. If I were dead I would know it.”

Glancing up at Jared’s distraught face all he wanted with his whole being was to kiss away the pain he saw. It was a dream though. There were no such things as ghosts except those people created in their own minds. “Jared, I don’t understand why we’ve been drawn together, but I promise you…”

“No promises, Jensen.”

Leaning in he grasped Jensen’s face with hands so big, Jensen swore he was capable of crushing his skull to powder. His touch though was insistent and gentle as he brought their lips together in a kiss. Jensen felt himself giving in to the fantasy before he even realized it.

Around them, colors smeared to rainbows of light and shadow. The kiss they shared deepened and Jensen swore, for the first time in his life, a simple kiss stole the breath from his lungs. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the beautiful creation of his mind that stood before him drawing him into a desperate embrace. This may be a dream, but he never wanted to wake up.

When Jared drew back, leaving Jensen to gasp for air he saw the dreamscape had changed. They were standing in Jared’s studio, next to the huge bed he’d seen there on his visit.

“Why are we here?”

Jared offered him a shy, sweet smile and brushed his fingers across Jensen’s hair, the short strands tickling his fingertips. “Make love to me.” A rosy light colored Jared’s cheeks.

“I don’t think this is…”

“If I’m dead as you say, a figment of your imagination, what’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Fuck it, Jensen thought. Dream or not he felt the desire rise inside him. This man whether real or not was the most incredible man he’d never met. He’d suffered through so much and yet there was brightness to his soul; one whose song called to the deepest reaches of what made Jensen who he was. Reaching out he tugged the tee shirt up Jared wore, urging his arms up until it freed from his body and tossed it to the floor. If he’d thought Jared magnificent before words failed him now as he saw his naked body for the first time. Muscles flexed beneath skin the color of those caramels he’d loved as a child. His mother had told him they were bad for him, but he hadn’t cared. He was damned sure Jared wasn’t good for him either.

He grabbed the waist of Jared’s jeans, fingers curling in the well-worn denim and pulled him closer. Against his fingers, he could feel the downy trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down to disappear beneath the denim. They were so close Jensen doubted a piece of paper could slip between them without crumpling. Carefully he began popping the buttons on the fly of Jared’s jeans. Beneath the denim, he felt the iron hard heat of his cock, pulsing with need and the flow of blood. When the final button popped free, he tugged the jeans along with Jared’s underwear down his muscled thighs allowing them to fall to the floor and Jared stepped from them.

Magnificent didn’t come close to describing what he saw. Jared’s body was exquisite in every way possible. It was as if the hands of God had created him especially for Jensen. His cock was even beautiful, a perfect sculpture. And Jensen would be the first to tell anyone a cock was not beautiful, but this one was. In his opinion, the entire package would have made Adonis himself weep.

“Get on the bed.” He whispered stripping off his own clothing.

Jared did as he was told and the sight of him spread out naked as the day he’d been born to the world was enough to have Jensen’s heart pounding, cock filling until it reared up in anticipation. Crawling up next to Jared, he began to explore every inch of the other man’s body; lips, teeth, tongue and hands everywhere. Beneath him, Jared moaned, voice a physical rumble rolling through his body.

He nipped along his clavicle to where the bones met to create a soft hollow, tongue teasing in circles as he reared up over his body, knees on either side of his hips and cock dragging across his belly. Jensen could feel the hot curve of Jared’s erection slip along his ass and he moaned at the idea of the thick sweetness buried inside him stretching him wide open until he couldn’t breathe. Kissing his way up the graceful swan like extension of Jared’s neck, he nipped at an ear lobe causing a whimper to escape parted lips.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard and deep you’ll taste my cock in your throat.” He whispered against the curve of Jared’s ear. “Would you like that?”

“Please.” Jared sighed. “I’ve waited my whole life to feel you inside me.”

Jensen shuddered at the whispered confession. His whole body felt as if it were on fire as he moved now, suckling and biting at Jared’s nipples. Jared moaned louder, back bowing up from the mattress beneath them as he writhed in desire. When Jensen reached down to curl one hand around his erection, Jensen believed he would come right then. It fit perfectly into his palm, heat of skin pulsing with each beat of his heart right there in Jensen’s hand. He could feel the flow of blood through the veins and Jared’s hips jerked as he thumbed the nerves beneath the rim of the leaking head. As he watched a perfect pearl of pre-cum swell from the tip, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows he knew he had to taste Jared. Lowering his head, grip tight around the curving column of Jared’s cock his tongue darted out and captured that perfect pearl. As the flavor hit his taste buds, Jensen’s eyes fluttered shut.

Salty and slick, he thought. The musky scent filled his nose and made his own erection twitch. He wanted more. Without warning, he wrapped his lips around the head and began sucking as he pumped his hand along Jared’s length.He hummed softly and Jared jerked at the vibrations as his tongue swirled around him, tasting everything he could.

“Please, so close.” Jared pleaded voice breathy and rough. “Don’t want to come like this.”

Jensen lifted his head, releasing Jared with a soft pop and smiled down at him. “How do you want to come? Do you want to come with me inside you? Thrusting?”

“Yes.”

Lifting Jared’s trembling legs over his shoulders, he spread him open with gentle hands and leaned forward, tongue darting out to tease at his hole. Cock twitching with each swipe of Jensen’s tongue, the volume of Jared’s cries grew as Jensen vigorously licked and sucked tasting him intimately. Just when Jared believed he could take no more teetering at the edge, Jensen burrowed his tongue deep in his ass, thrusting past the barrier of tight muscle. His hips jerked again as two fingers pushed into him alongside the tongue.

“Jensen…Please for the love of God.”

Pulling back Jensen raised one eyebrow, fingers buried deep in Jared’s ass. “Do you want me now?”

Jared lifted his head from the pillow, sweaty bangs stuck to his forehead and pupils blown until his eyes looked black. “Do it.”

Shifting on his knees, Jensen lowered Jared’s legs and lined his cock up. “I’m going to fuck you now.” With those words, he thrust forward in one swift movement.

Crying out in a heady mix of pain and pleasure, Jared’s entire body lifted from the bed only his head and shoulders touching the pillow and Jensen stilled. This might be a dream, but he had no desire to hurt the man beneath him. He was tighter than Jensen had expected and he had to close his eyes and breath before this was over far too soon. After a moment of silence, their breathing the only sound in the room, Jensen pulled back slow and easy. Beneath him, Jared clawed at the sheets knuckles gone white.

"God, please… fuck me already.” He gasped.

“Not a problem.”

The next few minutes went by far too quickly for Jensen, but they were the best damn minutes he’d had in forever. Twisted together and connected as one Jared met him thrust for thrust, long muscled legs wrapped around Jensen’s waist in a death grip. At one point Jared was setting in his lap, head resting on his shoulder, skin sticky with perspiration as he rode him. He whispered half words and grunted against Jensen’s skin in a song of need, every hair on Jensen’s body standing on end. Fingers clawed at bunching muscles leaving red marks behind and it seemed Jared wouldn’t be happy until he was inside Jensen’s skin with him. The entire experience was overwhelming.

Then it was over. Jensen arching back as he slammed one final time into the tight sheath of Jared’s ass, pumping load after load deep into his body. He didn’t even have to touch Jared as the other man clung to him gasping for air, cock spurting between their bodies seconds after Jensen’s orgasm washed over him. His teeth dug into Jensen’s shoulder, marking him as his own. Moments later, they both collapsed to the bed, Jensen rolling off Jared to rest his head on his heaving chest. His fingers played through the sweat and cum covering Jared’s skin and he smiled—really smiled—for the first time in years. They lay there fighting to catch their breath, warm sunlight caressing their bodies.

“You okay?” Jensen asked glancing up through his lashes.

“Yeah.” returning his smile Jared shifted, slinging one leg over Jensen’s hip. “It was everything I imaged it would be and more.” His fingers traced the curve of Jensen’s jaw down to his lips as if he were memorizing every freckle and angle. “Do you still think this is simply a dream?”

Jensen lowered his gaze from those earnest eyes, hand splayed on Jared’s damp chest the rumble of his heartbeat real enough beneath his palm. “It has to be. There’s no other explanation.”

“Listen to me, Jensen. I am not dead and the one who tried to kill me—he’ll come for me. I need you…” the words choked off his face twisted in pain. “Jensen, something’s wrong.”

Jensen looked up and gasped as Jared’s body flickered like static on a television screen. “Shit!” he scrambled back only halted by Jared grabbing his hand, fear in his eyes.

“Jensen, it hurts…I’m being pulled back.”

"Back where?”

Jared’s mouth moved but no sounds came out. Then his voice crackled back into existence. “Sandy…Find her…the glass…”

“I don’t know what to do.” Jensen tried to cling to him, but his hand passed through Jared’s as he went out of focus again.

“Sandy will…please, Jensen.” He cried as he vanished.

#

Jensen woke the room swathed in darkness and a sob ripped from his throat. He felt as if he was going crazy, but it had seemed so real. He’d been alone for so long his subconscious was creating something too perfect from a man who was—he couldn’t say it, not so soon after. Swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress, he ran his hands over his face and through sweat-dampened hair. He’d had a wet dream pure and simple. Standing he wandered to the bathroom and flipped on the light. That was when he saw it.

There on his shoulder a perfect crescent imprint of teeth


	15. Chapter 15

There was no sleeping for Jensen after that. He’d stood in front of the mirror and stared for a good fifteen minutes at the mark on his shoulder knowing what was there could not—in any way—be real. Yes, Jared had bitten him, but that was in a dream the manifestation of loneliness and the case he’d been focusing on for the past few days. It was a combination of not enough sleep, the odd coincidence of having met Jared for a split second nearly twenty years before and—

He lifted his hand touching the obvious illusion confronting him in the mirror and hissed as fingertips grazed tender bruised flesh. This was the final straw, he thought as he turned away from the mirror and went to get dressed. The clock on the bedside table read four am and he wondered if Misha would be up at this hour. He needed to talk to someone about this insanity yet he wasn’t sure Misha would be the brightest choice.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he reached for his cell. He sat there for a few minutes contemplating what to do. As seconds ticked by, he turned the phone over repeatedly in his hands and then pulled up the keyboard on the screen, typing in Steve’s number. His thumbs moved over the keys rapidly typing out a message.

Dude need 2 talk. U awake?

He studied the short message, hands shaking as he wondered what it was like to go insane. Did crazy people question their sanity? If he wasn’t crazy then how did he explain the mark on his shoulder where a dream lover had bitten him? The pad of his thumb hovered over the send button for a second before he pressed it releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He sat the phone aside and finished dressing as he waited for Steve to reply. It wasn’t a long wait. As he was pulling on his boots, the phone vibrated and he reached for it, reading the reply.

What’s up, Jen?

Need your common sense. Coffee @ Jim’s?

Sure. Say, half hour?

Yeah, c u then.

Pocketing his phone, Jensen grabbed his keys and the files from the desk in the office heading down to garage. Maybe Steve could put a sane spin on what had happened. If he couldn’t then Jensen wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

#  
Jim stood on the diner stoop watching the sunrise over the city, cup of coffee cradled in his hands. It would be an hour or so before he opened to the public, but he always rose before the sun, military training he imagined—once a soldier always a soldier and all that jazz. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-assed smile as he heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine seconds before she rounded the corner. He’d know that sound anywhere. His first new car had been an Impala when he returned from Nam and the sound reminded him of home.

As soon as the car came to stop, he waved a greeting to Jensen. Seconds later the engine died and the driver’s door swung open revealing an exhausted and twitchy Jensen, hair standing on end and wearing wrinkled clothes. Jim knew when Steve had called to tell him they were on their way something was wrong, but he hadn’t imagined how wrong it could be. Jensen looked as if he was ready to fall flat out on his face. There was something else though about the entire thing that had Jim’s hackles rising. He stepped off the stoop and greeted the kid with a worried smile.

“Coffee’s on, Steve’s waiting and can I say you look like day old shit, boy.”

“Feel like it to, Jim.” Jensen mumbled beneath his breath.

Jim took his messenger bag, patting him on the back. “Well, let’s get some coffee and food in you.”

Just the idea of food made Jensen stomach squirm. “I don’t think I can eat.”

Opening the door, he hustled Jensen through with a snort. “You’re eating, boy, even if I have to tie your ass to a chair and force feed you with a pitchfork.”

He offered Jim a watery smile and head shaking. “Okay, fine, but can we start out with something simple—maybe toast?”

“Sure thing—toast and coffee it is.”

He headed for the kitchen glancing back when he reached the door to watch Jensen join Steve at a booth in the back. He was worried about the boy more than he had been in a dog’s age. This case was getting under the kid’s skin in a bad way. That never was a good thing from what Jim had seen in the years since they’d become friends. He owed Jensen big time. Where the police had failed him Jensen hadn’t and he’d sworn the day his daughter’s murderer had fallen at the end of the boy’s gun he’d watch out for him. He’d never broke a promise and no matter what mess Jensen had stumbled into this time he wasn’t about to stop.

With a worried sigh, he entered the kitchen, leaving the young men to talk in privacy.

#

Steve was going over the following week’s schedule for the Bayou when he heard the bell ring above the door. Glancing up from beneath his hair he nearly shit when he saw Jensen. He and Chris had meet Jensen when he was eighteen and in all those years since he’d seen his friend in numerous ways, but never like this.

Walking toward him Jensen looked like his best friend had died and Steve was damned sure that wasn’t the case since he’d left Chris snoring loudly in bed just a half-hour before. Shoulders slumped and hands shaking, Jensen slid into the booth unable or unwilling to met Steve’s steely gaze. It was no wonder though. His skin was paler than usual, dark smudges under his eyes and tremors were running through his body. If Steve hadn’t known Jensen as well as he did he would have thought he was terrified. Not much scared Jensen, but this version—the one in front of him—worried him sick.

“Jesus Christ, Jen, what the hell is going on? You look freaked and that’s the understatement of the year.” Steve could see the bob of Jensen’s throat as he looked up the expression in his eyes making his stomach flip. “What is it, man? What’s happened? Is Mac okay?”

Jensen licked his lips nervous as all hell and cleared his throat. “Mac’s fine.”

“Then what is it? You’re scaring the hell out of me.” He reached out one hand covering his friend’s and nearly pulled back. “You’re ice cold.”

“I’m losing it, Steve. I should have never taken this case.”

Shaking his head, he squeezed Jensen’s hand. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t even know where to start, dude. Everything is so…weird. First I’m seeing a dead man’s ghost and then…” his cheeks flamed red.

“Jen, you’re the one who called me. I can’t help if you don’t…”

“I had a dream about him.” His cheeks grew redder as the dream’s memory rose to the surface.

Steve’s eyes went wide, eyebrows shooting up, “A sex dream?”

“Yeah.” gaze lowering to the table he began to tremble again.

“Damn, is that what this is about? We all have fantasies. Grant you, mine are usually about living breathing men, but—seriously—a fucking sex dream? You had me worried sick you idiot.”

Jensen’s head jerked up in anger. “Fuck, Steve, if that were it I think I could handle it. You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me, Jensen. What could be so bad it freaked you out this damn much.” he leaned back, arms folded over his chest.

Lifting his hand, Jensen pulled the neck of his tee shirt down to bare his shoulder. There clear as day was a bruise on his shoulder, surrounding a perfect imprint of teeth. Steve leaned across the table, eyebrows drawn together in a deep frown.

“That’s one hell of a hickey, but I still…”

“Jared bit me in the dream while we were having sex.”

“But that’s…”

“Impossible?” Jensen finished. “Tell me about it.”

Steve looked as if his eyes were going to pop out of his skull and roll across the table into Jensen’s lap. “I don’t get it? How in the hell does something that happens in a dream manifest in reality? This can’t be real.”

“Now you know why I’m freaked out. I’m starting to think I should stock up on holy water and garlic. Hell, I’m thinking I might need a fucking exorcist.”

“Wait.” Steve held up a hand. “You said you’ve been seeing Jared—right?”

“Yeah, you know that.” He held up his bandaged hands. “That’s how I ended up with twenty stitches—give or take a few—in my hands.”

“Did he talk to you?”

“Where the hell is this leading?”

Leaning back, Steve drummed his fingers on the table. “Just humor me—okay? What did he say?”

“Which time?”

“The second time when you ended up shooting out the window in your office.”

“He kept telling me he wasn’t dead, begged for my help.”

Steve worried at his lower lip, fingers speeding up on the table. “What was it she called it?”

“What did who say?”

“Some gal who used to wait tables for us at the club a couple of years back.”

“Your mind is on some waitress at the Bayou?”

“Damn it, be quiet I’m trying to think, man.”

“It’s called a crisis apparition.”

Both men looked up to see Jim standing over the table, tray of food and fresh coffee in hand. His face was expressionless, but what Jensen saw in his eyes was like a punch in the gut.

“A what?” they both asked in unison.

Jim snorted and sat down the tray. “Move over you idgit.” He nudged Jensen over and took a seat next to him. “It’s called a crisis apparition. It’s when someone is close to death and an image of them manifests to friends or loved ones. There are all sorts of stories about them around the world. Different names, but the same damn thing.”

One of Jensen’s eyebrows lifted as he faced the elder man, “Since when are you into the paranormal, Jim?”

A deep laugh exploded from the elder man. “What you don’t know about me could fill a fucking warehouse or two, boy. I’m not into the paranormal. When I was in ‘Nam I saw a lot of shit most folks would consider crazy. One of those things was what paranormal enthusiasts call crisis apparitions. On my last tour of duty, they teamed me up with a green horn. I should have never let the kid wander out into the fucking jungle alone. He got himself shot in the gut. If you know anything about gunshot wounds you know that’s one of the slowest and most agonizing ways to die.”

Jim paused to let what he’d said sink in and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Reaching in his shirt pocket, he pulled out a flask and splashed a dash of whiskey into the steaming coffee. He tucked away the flask and then brought the coffee to his lips blowing across the surface before taking a sip.

“Now that’s some damn fine Irish coffee.” He chuckled at the two younger men. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. We all have our own ways of coping. Now, where was I…oh, yeah…Private Ian Somerhalder? Kid was a tough one, but war is war no matter how tough you are. Some Charlie sniper was hiding in the treetops and shot the kid before he even knew he was there. I was about quarter of a mile south when I saw Ian standing in the middle of a fucking rice paddy covered in blood. First, I thought he was injured and out of his mind, but then he vanished. Right then I knew the kid was in trouble so I headed back north to track him down.”

“You seriously saw him?” Steve questioned in a whisper.

“Sure did, son.” He held up his right hand. “Swear to God on the Bible. Wasn’t the last time I saw him either. I kept catching glimpses of him in the shadows. Kid led me right to the spot Charlie shot him and he was damn near dead when I found him. He was scared and out of his mind. Wasn’t a damn thing I could do for him other than set and hold his hand until he took his last breathe.” he took another sip of his coffee. “Jensen, if you’re seeing that boy then he’s alive somewhere. Don’t know where or how, but he’s alive and he’s latched on to you.”

Standing Jim wandered back to the kitchen leaving both men flabbergasted.

“Do you think he’s right?” Jensen asked.

Steve thought about it for a second and then nodded. “Yeah, I do. If this Jared is reaching out to you, there’s a reason. Maybe you need to go talk to that detective.”

“Collins is already helping me.”

"Then maybe he can find out how a dead man isn’t so dead after all.”

#

When Jensen walked into Misha’s office as if he owned the place, it didn’t surprise the detective in the least. Yesterday he’d confessed his past to the man and it had been exhausting—hell Ackles was exhausting in and of himself. Today though when he looked up to see him in the doorway he wondered what the hell had happened after they parted ways the previous evening.

“Jared Padalecki is alive.”

Both of Misha’s eyebrows lifted close to his hairline. “Okay—and how would you know that?"

“It doesn’t matter.” Jensen closed the door behind him. “I just need you to answer a couple of questions.”

“Of course, what do you need to know?”

“Did you give the keys to your people?”

Misha nodded as he pulled open his desk drawer. Reaching in he pulled out an evidence page with the keys attached to a file. He flipped open the folder and pushed it across the desk as Jensen took a seat. “The safety deposit box key is for box 071982 at Union Bank on South Figueroa. The other key appears to be for a late 19th century lock used on cedar chests between 1890 and 1900. The inscription simply says ‘The key to my heart and soul’.”

Rooting through his bag Jensen pulled out a padded envelope and slid it across the desk. “I discovered these last night. Jared apparently knew he was in trouble and he left a trail of breadcrumbs.”

Misha accepted the envelope eyeing Jensen as he opened it. Inside were the two pieces of stained glass he’d discovered the night before. “Where did you find these?” he lifted one between his fingers, turning it in the morning light.

“They were glued beneath Jared’s signature under thick layers of paint on the two canvasses I had; one he gave to a mutual acquaintance and the other was the one I showed you. I’m not sure what they’re a part of, but I’m sure Jared was trying to tell us something.”

“So what do we do?”

“We don’t do anything.” Jensen stood reaching in his pocket and tossed Misha the keys to Jared’s house. “I gave Megan a call, told her I was giving you the keys and you needed to find some paintings.”

“Fuck, Jensen. He was a painter his studio is filled with canvasses.”

Leaning across the desk Jensen grinned. “I’m not stupid, Collins.” He pulled a sheet of folded notepaper from his jacket and tossed it at Misha. “Those are the details you’re looking for in the paintings. Follow those guidelines and it should be a snap.” He turned and headed for the door.

“Wait.” Misha called out. “I thought you said you had a couple of questions?”

“Oh, yeah.” he glanced over his shoulder. “Do you know anyone named Sandy associated with Jared?”

Misha ran through the virtual filing system in his brain. “Yes, actually I do. Sandra McCoy. She and Jared were friends and occasional lovers when he first came to LA. Why?”

“I’ll explain later. I have to go see a man about a John Doe.”

#

Forty-five minutes later at the edge of East LA, Chad Lindberg cursed a blue streak, roused from a solid sleep by an insistent pounding on the front door of his roach infested apartment. Speaking of roaches, he thought. His goddamned landlord promised he’d take care of the problem.

“All right already! I’m fucking coming you twat! Hang on to your goddamn panties.” He scratched at his neck and yawned, pressing one blood shot eye to the peephole. “Oh, hell no, Ackles, I’m not opening the fucking door!”

“You either open the door, Chad, or I’m calling the 5-0 on your drugged up hacker ass. I’m sure they’d be interested to know you’ve been fixing parking tickets for your drug dealer buddies.”

Moaning Chad backed into the wall and slid to the floor. “What the hell do you want from me, man? You’ve used up all the favors I owe you.”

“Hacking the LAPD’s server is some serious shit, Chad. I’m just saying.”

“Fine you heartless bastard, but there’d better be a six-pack of PBR in it.”

He pushed up from the floor, unlocked the eight deadbolts, and opened the door. Jensen was standing there waving a six-pack with a shit-eating grin on his exhausted face. Chad snorted.

“Would I ever let you down, dude?”

He snatched the beer and turned away, flipping Jensen the bird. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind you, asshole.”

Jensen kicked the door shut behind him with a chuckle and started flipping dead bolts. “So, how’s life treating you, man?”

“Enough with the small talk, Ackles, what the fuck do you need?” his voice carried through the cluttered apartment.

Carefully Jensen threaded his way through a maze of computer parts and bootleg movies. At least he’d caught Chad before he had to make a run for it again and that was a good start. “I need you to look for any mention of a John Doe.”

“Parameters?”

Entering the living room, Jensen sat down next to Chad’s makeshift desk where the other man was booting up with a wide yawn, “White male, 25-30, 6’ 4” brunette, hazel eyes, and two moles; one beneath the left eye and the other on the right side of his chin.”

Chad raised one eyebrow, fingers flying over the keyboard. “That’s pretty specific for a John Doe.”

“Mind your business!” he snapped. “Let’s say if you find him, there are a dozen cases of PBR in it for you.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”


	16. Chapter 16

An hour and a half later and a promise to return with a dozen cases of PBR as soon as the dust settled, Jensen found himself standing outside a small bungalow in the Hollywood hills praying he had the right address. Running one hand through his hair, he checked his breath then rang the doorbell. His foot tapped against the stone path as he waited for an answer.

Not even two minutes had passed when the door flew open, a petite Eurasian beauty appearing behind the screen door dressed in denim cutoffs and a cream-colored tee shirt with the words BITE ME in neon pink emblazoned across her perk breasts.

“Sandy McCoy?”

“How many times do I…” she paused in mid-rant dark eyes going huge as saucers.

Jensen panicked as she slumped against the doorframe, mouth working as if she couldn’t quite find the right words. “Ms. McCoy, are you okay?”

“You’re real.” She whispered. “Oh my God…you’re real.”

“Excuse me—what?”

She pulled open the screen door and stepped out, one delicate hand reaching out to poke a finger in his chest. “Jensen?”

Thrown off guard, he took a step back. “Have we met before?”

Tears welled in Sandy’s eyes as she shook her head, hands pressed to her lips. “No,” she made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiccup. “I know you though like we’ve know each other our entire lives. You’re Jared’s boy…Jensen.”

#  
Sandy’s home was clean, neat, yard sale chic and it turned out she wasn’t kidding about knowing Jensen. Rooting through the hall closet, she yelled over her shoulder. “I always thought Jared made you up. I loved him, but dear God he had issues. We tried to make a go of it in the beginning, but I knew him better than he knew himself.”

“So, he talked about me when you knew him?” Jensen wandered the living room taking in the numerous framed photos on the walls, some with Jared in them, a younger version, but still Jared.

“A-ha! There it is.” Sandy came bouncing into the room wide smile brightening her face and a leather portfolio in hand, which she offered him. “It’s okay, take it. It won’t bite—I promise.”

Jensen accepted the portfolio taking a seat on the sofa, gut knotting up in fear. He was unprepared for this. He opened the portfolio with shaking hands and his eyes filled with tears. There were sheaves of paper of all shapes and sizes and every single one covered with sketches of him from the age of five to his present age, some yellowed with age around the edges.

“Jared always said there was someone waiting for him—a green eyed boy with freckles—but he always missed him by seconds when he was close. I thought you were his fantasy or a delusion.”

He cleared his throat, fingers gliding over the pages. “Sandy, I came to talk to you about Jared. He’s alive and I’ve got a damn good idea where he is.”

“I know.”

He glanced up at Sandy in shock. “How do you know?”

Taking a seat next to him, Sandy’s expression shifted to something bittersweet and sad. “When I heard Jared had killed himself I knew it was a lie. The reason he went to San Luis that night was for a meeting with someone from his past. I knew everything about Jared; including the drugs and enforced prostitution. Somehow, call it fate or coincidence, he ran into one of the men who used him when he was in Corpus Christi. The guy was someone in his life although he never told me who despite my badgering.”

“One of the clients Lane sent him, too?”

She nodded. “I knew he was going out there to end the mess he’d gotten himself in. He cared for Genevieve enough he didn’t want her to know about his past so when this client showed up threatening to tell her, Jared threatened him. He’d been blackmailing the guy. Apparently, if it got out he was not only on the down low but had used gay prostitutes it would destroy his entire life. I told Jay not to screw around, to go to the cops, but he said he had it under control. As the wedding approached, the man he was blackmailing was getting twitchy and according to Jay even propositioned him.”

“Jesus.” Jensen swore softly. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Her eyes narrowed, “Whoever this asshole was Jay was dealing with tried to kill him that night. Hell, the bastard thought he had killed him.”

“He’s in Sand City.” Jensen whispered flipping through the sketches.

Sandy’s eyes widened. “How did you find out?”

He glanced up at the young woman sitting next to him, corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “I have my ways, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She threw back her head, laughing. “At this point you’d be surprised what I would believe. I always knew Jared was special—I just didn’t know how special.”

“How did he get to Sand City?”

Shaking her head, Sandy sighed, eyes drifting shut. “The best I can figure there was a fight that night in San Luis. Jay’s in a bad way, he’s been in a coma since one of the locals found him. The injuries he sustained suggested whoever was there pushed him over the cliff. It was high tide and more than likely it was the only reason he didn’t die. I came across a small item from a local paper up north about a John Doe washing up on the shore in Sand City. I dropped everything and went up there. It was Jay.”

“So why hasn’t anyone else found him?”

Sandy offered him a mysterious little smile. “I have a few connections that helped out. I leased a small cottage up there, hired a private nurse and travel up a couple of times a week to see him. The physical injuries have healed, but he hasn’t woke up even though the doctor whose been seeing him can’t figure out why. There’s brain activity, the swelling has gone down from the head trauma, yet he doesn’t wake up.”

Closing the portfolio, Jensen sat it on the coffee table mulling over Sandy’s words for a few minutes. Then he spoke voice curious. “All of this takes a great deal of money, Ms. McCoy. How exactly can you afford it?”

Her eyes took on a grief stricken light. “My parents died when I was still young, Mr. Ackles. There was a lawsuit and well…my father was Irish, from Boston, need I say more?”

Jensen’s eyes widened as things clicked into place. Boston was riff with gangsters, especially Irish ones and you did not piss off the Irish. The McCoy family had been long associated with illegal activity although the Feds could never quite prove it. Leave it up to Jared to make friends with a member of one of the most powerful Irish families next to the Kennedys and on the opposite side of the law.

“No need.” He replied with a wink.

Sandy brushed back a strand of errant hair and leaned in close. “I’m sure there are other reasons you came other than the answers I’ve given you.”

“Yes, actually there were.”

“Then shoot, cutie.”

He blushed. “Em…well we…that is Detective Collins and I have discovered something I think will lead us to the man who did this to Jared.”

“Does the stained glass have something to do with it?”

He raised one eyebrow. “As a matter of fact it does. How did you know about it?”

Standing she disappeared down the hall and a few minutes later return with a box. “Two or three days before Jared vanished he gave me this. He told me if anything happened to him, I should find you and give them to you. Being as I didn’t think you existed I just put it up to his eccentricities.” She handed him the box with a gleam of hope in her dark eyes.

Jensen took the box and opened it. Inside the box two perfect triangles of stained glass bearing the letters ‘T’ and ‘E’ were carefully wrapped in bubble wrap and cotton. He looked up at Sandy and grinned. “I was right. We already found two and…”

Right then his phone began vibrating and he reached in his pocket. The display number was Misha’s and he knew without a doubt he’d found what he’d been looking for. “I need to get this.”

She nodded and stood. “I’ll go get some coffee.”

Answering the call, Jensen watched her disappear into the kitchen. “Hey, Collins, you find something?”

Misha’s voice drifted down the line. “Yeah, I did. There were two paintings meeting the criteria you gave me and they both had pieces attached to them.”

“What letters?”

“There was another ‘R’ and an ‘O’. Have you been to the bank yet?”

“No, not yet, but I found Sandy McCoy. You’re never going to believe this, but she knew Jared was alive. She even knows where he is.”

"So, this phantom you’ve been seeing was telling you the truth? Jesus, Ackles, I’m starting to get creeped out here.”

Jensen snorted. “Tell me about it. Look, we’ve got another set of eyes with us now that might help unravel this sticky web. Meet me at Union Bank, bring the pieces you found and Sandy is coming with because she has two more.”

“What time?”

He looked up to see Sandy standing in the door. “Hang on a sec, Misha.” He pressed the phone to his shoulder and took a deep breath. “I hope you’ll come. Jared needs you.”

“He’s had me from the get go. How soon do we leave?”

“Right away, if you’re able.”

“I’m in.”

Lifting the phone he smiled as Sandy went to get her jacket. “Misha, we’re heading out from Sandy’s place in about five so I’ll see you in say thirty minutes.”

“Sure thing, Jensen, and I hope you’re going to fill me in.”

“Trust me when I say this is going to blow your mind.”

 

#  
By the time they reached the bank, Misha was outside waiting, coat whipping around his ankles as the wind picked up. Jensen had to roll his eyes at the sight of him leaning against the car, cigarette dangling from his lips. He reminded him of the character from the comics his sister loved so damn much, some irritating demon hunting Brit except Misha had dark hair.

Once they parked he and Sandy joined Misha and introductions were made as quick as possible before they entered the bank to find what Jensen hoped was the final piece of the puzzle. Still shocked by the revelation Jared was alive, although for how long there was no way to tell, Jensen wondered what would happen when he finally saw him in person. Sandy had explained on the way into downtown he was on a respirator and nourished intravenously. There was also around the clock security provided by her family back in Boston. Jensen was damned sure if the person who’d tried to kill Jared found out he was alive the security was a good idea. How Sandy and her contacts had managed to keep his survival a secret this long was a mystery to him.

Jensen was relieved there was little fuss about the safety deposit box. Apparently, Misha had contacted the bank president prior to leaving the station and explained the situation because all it took was a flash of his shiny detective’s badge and a security guard escorted them into the backroom. Within minutes, the box in question was setting on the table in front of the group.

“Well, are you going to stare at it all day, Ackles, or open the damn thing?”

Jensen glared at Misha and then reached in his bag to remove the key. A million thoughts rushed through his mind as he inserted the key, his heart racing. Taking a deep breath, he turned the key and the lid popped. It was as if time stopped and he found it difficult to breath. Reaching out he opened the lid revealing a manila envelope with his name written in loose, sprawling cursive. Seeing his name freaked him out as much as seeing all those sketches at Sandy’s house. Hands shaking he lifted the envelope from the box careful as hell not to break whatever was in it. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his knife and slit it open and then reached in to remove a bubble wrapped piece he knew was like the other pieces they’d discovered although this one was larger. Taped to it was another smaller envelope. Removing the tape, Jensen ripped it open and unfolded the paper inside. The letter was—written in the same hand as the larger envelope—addressed to him as well.

Jensen,

If you’re reading this then I’ve failed to find you after years of searching. It also means more than likely I’m no longer part of this world. I can’t explain the connection I have with you and I’m not even sure you would believe me if I tried. The best I can say is as my grandmother used to tell me there are true soul mates. Not every soul born has one and those who do spend their lives searching. Some experience the joy of finding their other half in this life and others search until they find themselves drawn to the other side by the grim reaper’s song.

Perhaps, fate meant for us to find one another in the world beyond this one. If that is the case and the veil divides us for now you will grant my final wish. I wasn’t the best person when I walked this world. Darkness followed me wherever I wandered and in the end, the reaper found me no matter how fast I ran.

Connect the pieces I’ve given you and bring my killer to justice.

Until we meet on the other side.

Forever Yours, Jared

Tears welled in Jensen’s eyes and he swallowed hard, fingers crushing the paper in them. Jared had known he was out there and if he were honest, he’d known the same of Jared. Now, the two of them separated by fate might never have a chance and Jared was pleading from what amounted to his deathbed for him to avenge his death before it was final.

“Jensen, are you okay?” Misha grabbed a folding chair and helped him sit as his legs wobbled precariously beneath him. “Answer me, Ackles, you’re freaking me out.”

He swallowed hard, tears trailing down his face. “What is it?”

Misha blinked. “What is what?”

“What is that?” he lifted one shaking hand and pointed to the wrapped object.

Sandy was already there before he even finished the question, ripping away the bubble wrap. As the last of the wrap pulled back, she gasped and lifted it from the bedding. It was a stained glass hexagon in the center a single green eye and beneath it was a set of lips.

All Jensen could do was sit staring in confusion at the object in her tiny hands. He was lost, his world was crumbling beneath him, and now more than ever he wished the earth would simply swallow him up. How could one man fix what fate had woven?

“It’s a puzzle.”

Jensen and Sandy turned at the precise same moment to eye Misha.

“What?” he shrugged. “Haven’t you ever played Pictionary?”

“Jesus, he’s right.” Sandy swore. “Jared loved to play that stupid fucking game. It drove me nuts, but then I couldn’t draw worth a damn.”

Misha moved to the table and studied the piece of glass, eyes narrowed. “Okay, the images need to be translated to words. The eye could mean a number of things; see, saw, view and the lips could mean speak, talk, tell…” he hummed to himself.

“See…saw…” Sandy mumbled beneath her breath as she glanced at Jensen. “It’s going to be okay, Jensen. We’ll figure it out, I swear …” her eyes went wide as if she recalled something important. Reaching in her bag, she pulled out a pen and grabbed the discarded envelope on the table scribbling furiously.

“What is it?” Jensen snapped out of himself seeing the excitement on her face.

“Jared had a storage locker at a company called StorQuest. The street it was on started with an ‘S’. It was an odd name…Seetle…Sawtilla…damn it!”

Misha took out his phone and started a search. A few seconds later, he grinned from ear to ear, “Sawtelle Boulevard! They have a location at 2531 Sawtelle Blvd. in West LA.”

“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Jensen was up and running out the door.

#

The shift manager in charge of the StorQuest office wasn’t happy nor was he angry, he was just flabbergasted when a detective along with a private investigator, and a tiny female whirlwind appeared demanding he show them a unit rented by one Jared Padalecki. He wasn’t much more than a kid and he was sweating bullets.

“Look I don’t want any trouble and my boss will have my ass if I let you in without a warrant.” He fiddled with his tie as Jensen turned a bright shade of red and started cursing a blue streak.

Misha leaned across the counter and offered a smile. “This is very important and involves a possible homicide, kid. We could get a warrant, but all I’m asking is look up the account. See if there is a secondary holder by the name of Jensen Ackles on the contract in any capacity.”

The young man’s eyes darted from one angry face to another and then back to Misha. “I suppose I could do that.” He moved to one of the computers and began typing. “You said the name of the holder was Jared Padalecki—right?”

“Yes.”

“P-A-D-A-L-E-C-K-I?”

“Yes!” all three replied in unison.

He glanced up from the screen eyes huge as saucers. “You were right sort of. There is a notation on the contract. It states ‘if and when a Jensen Ackles comes forward with appropriate identification he is to be given immediate access.’ How did you know that?”

Jensen stepped forward and laid his driver’s license down on the counter. “Because, kid, I’m Jensen Ackles.”

“I’ll get the key, sir.”

#

 

Twenty minutes later, Jensen was standing with Misha and Sandy in front of locker 3178 and he was wondering if he was ready for what waited behind the door. Sliding the key into the padlock, the lock popped open sliding free. He bent grabbed the handle, lifted the door, and then reached inside to flip the light switch. Whatever he was expecting it wasn’t what he found.

The locker was empty except for a small cedar chest placed in the middle of the floor on a pallet, covered with plastic sheeting. Walking inside he pulled the sheeting off and reached in his bag retrieving the brass key Misha had returned. He knelt on the pallet, willing his heart to slow along with his breathing. Jared knew, he told himself. He’d known what was about to happen and he’d known somehow Jensen would find his way here to the one place he shouldn’t have been able to.

His hand smoothed over the flat, dusty lid of the cedar chest and closed his eyes, whispering the words engraved on the key—the ones that had haunted him for days now.

“The key to my heart and soul.” he pushed the key into the lock and turned. The lock clicked as he opened his eyes and released a ragged breath. “It worked. The key worked.”

Lifting the lid, Jensen lowered his gaze and saw the book. It was a dark green ledger book, the edges of the cloth cover worn and ragged. A legal sized envelope lay on top of it with one word scrawled across it—Instructions.

He pulled the book and envelope out of the cedar chest as he stood and shut the lid with gentle hands. Sitting on the chest, he sat the book aside, opened the envelope, and pulled out the sheet of paper, smoothing it out.

Jensen,

You’ve found the Star of David. David was the one who did this to me. He came back into my life in a way I never imagined. He threatened Genevieve and my friends—I couldn’t let him get away with that. Put the star together and you’ll know his real name and then you’ll understand. Make sure he pays for what he did in the past and the present.

He needs to hear the song of the reaper just as I have.

Jared

 

He sat aside the letter, picked up the ledger book and began flipping through the pages. There were well over a hundred names, none of them real he was sure, and the details Jared had written were horrifying. In six months, Lane had made a small fortune with what amounted to rape no matter how you painted it. There were places where the handwriting was shaky and others where drops of moisture had caused the ink to bleed on the paper. The more Jensen read the angrier he became and then he saw it.

Page 105 and at the top was the client name—David Starr. The details given were horrific. The things he’d paid to do to Jared in the privacy of his suite. Dear God, Jensen thought. This man was more of a monster than a man. His tastes so twisted, they couldn’t even be put in the same category as sex. It was more sexual torture than anything else although from the notes Jared had wrote he viewed himself as a BDSM master. It was far from BDSM it was sick, evil and if he thought for one moment—this monster—that he was going to go Scott-free he had another thought coming.

“Jensen.” Sandy’s voice was soft as she reached out to stroke his cheek. “What did you find?”

He slammed the book shut. “You don’t want to know.”

Her lips pursed as she glanced over her shoulder at Misha who’d been silent since Jensen had found the book. “Maybe you should leave, Detective Collins. Consider it plausible denial among other things.” Her voice held an edge it hadn’t before.

“Maybe I should.” Misha replied and turned away, disappearing from sight.

Once she was sure they were alone, she turned back to Jensen. “How do we find this bastard?”

Jensen blinked and his brows drew together in a deep frown. “This isn’t something you should be involved in, Sandy. Jared needs you.”

“Bullshit.” She growled. “He needs you too.”

He studied her face for a moment taking in the anger burning in her eyes. “I don’t know…”

Sandy snorted. “I love Jared. I always have, but I was never able to give him what he needed. Whatever spiritual power or being is out there in the universe always intended for you to complete him—make you both whole. If not here and now, then in the afterlife, but you don’t need to be alone to do that. Besides, I can handle myself just fine. Now how do we find this son-of-a-bitch?”

“The stained glass pieces do you still have them?”

“Yes, they’re in my bag—why?”

“It’s a Star of David. The points with the letters are going to give us his real name.”

“Then let’s get going, cutie. We have a mess to clean up.”

Jensen was damned sure if he planned on taking this fucker down he better be quick on the draw. If he wasn’t Sandy would. He was sure she’d try her hand at painting a little Jackson Pollack using the fucker’s brains. After all the Irish didn’t play around when it came to this shit.


	17. Chapter 17

Genevieve was surprised to hear back so quickly from Ackles, but then Tom had assured her he was the best and it seemed he was correct. He’d called her an hour ago telling her he had some news on the investigation front and there were a couple of things he needed verification on. She’d suggested he join her family for dinner and he’d agreed, explaining he also had someone she needed to talk to as well. Whom he could possibly think she needed to talk to was beyond her, but if it revealed the truth about Jared, she was willing to talk to the Pope himself even if the Pope had issues with her life style.

Sitting at her dressing table, she pushed one of her pearl earrings into place and attached the backing, screwing it into place. She picked up the other, looked up at the mirror and screamed.

“Jesus, Gen, you’re jumpy as hell.”

She spun in her chair and stood smacking her brother’s arm. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rob? You scared the shit out of me.”

Robert rolled his eyes, pulling his sister into his arms. “Oh, sweet cheeks don’t be angry.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek as she squirmed out of his embrace.

“You’re wrinkling my dress, asshole.” she huffed sitting back down. “Damn it! You made me lose my other…”

He held up the pearl earring with a smirk. “Looking for this baby sister?”

Snatching the earring from his hand, she turned back to the mirror. “What are you doing in here anyway? I thought you were angry with me over my decision to hire Ackles.”

Robert dropped to the end of the bed, inspecting his nails. “Not angry, Gen, just concerned is all. You’ve been through so much since Jared…and well bringing it back up seemed not the best way to deal with your depression.”

Staring at his reflection in the mirror her eyes narrowed. “Robert, I lost my fiancé of course I’ve been depressed and you and Daddy have been zero help.” She picked up a tube of cherry red lipstick and began painting her lips. “Anyone would be depressed after the way everyone wrote his death off as a suicide. Jared wouldn’t have done such a thing—especially not two weeks before our wedding. I simply don’t understand why you both washed your hands of it.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Jared wasn’t ready for this world and the stress got to him. It happens and Dad has pulled every string in the book to make sure it was looked into.” His lip curled in disgust. “Then what do you do, but hire some sleazy PI to dig into things, again. Jared killed himself—pure and simple.”

She paused, rolling her lips and turning her head to check for any smears or stains on her brilliant white teeth. “Believe what you like, Robert, but he called me. He’s found something and he wants to discuss it in person.”

Frowning, he picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his dinner jacket. “Do you honestly believe this Ackles character could discover something when all of Father’s resources couldn’t?”

Genevieve sniffed. “Yes, I do and he’s coming to dinner. So please for the love of God behave yourself.”

With a frustrated sigh, Robert stood adjusting his cufflinks. “Do you think opening our home to this man is the best idea? He runs in a completely different social circle and that’s being kind to say the least. Does he even know what black tie is?”

“Yes, he does and you Robert need to quit being such a snob. Daddy did not raise us to act like that and you damn well know it.”

He headed for the bedroom door. “Very well, Gen, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when this entire thing blows up in your face.”

As the door closed behind him, Genevieve turned back to the mirror studying her reflection. Robert was wrong about Jensen Ackles and he was wrong about her decision to dig up the past. Jared hadn’t killed himself. She knew it in her heart and soul. Her conviction was rock solid and now Ackles was bringing something to her tonight. Something he felt the need to deliver personally.

“Fuck you, Robert.” She whispered. “Fuck you and Daddy both.”

 

#  
As Jensen pulled through the towering gates of Julian Cortese’s estate, he couldn’t help but to whistle. He wondered how Jared had reacted to this place the first time Genevieve had brought him home to daddy. They both shared backgrounds, cut from the same cloth, Texans through and through. This kind of extravagance wasn’t something either would have been familiar with despite Hollywood’s version of Texas.

Beside him in the passenger seat, Sandy smoothed her hands over her dress for the millionth time and checked her make-up. He smiled at that. Typical woman on the outside, but beneath the short skirt she was wearing a 9mm in a thigh holster. To say he was surprised would have been an understatement. Even knowing her background, he had a hard time wrapping his brain around such a delicate feminine creature being educated in the art of firearms and self-defense.

“Relax, Jensen.” She laughed as the car came to a stop. “You look fantastic, yummy enough to eat. Black tie becomes you. You should try it more often.”

“Yeah, whatever.” he rolled his eyes as he cut the engine, glancing at Sandy. “You ready for this?” His nerves were on edge about the entire plan especially having her with him as they walked into what amounted to a lion’s den. This plan could work, but all it took was one slip up and it could go south faster than a student would on spring break.

She flashed him a brilliant smile and brushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear, the diamond in said ear sparkling. “Sweetie, I was born ready. Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

#  
“Welcome, Mr. Ackles.” Genevieve greeted them at the front door. “Please excuse any bad manners my family may exhibit this evening. None of them was too damn keen on my hiring you.”

“Please, Ms. Cortese, call me Jensen. I understand considering most folks don’t care much for people in my line of work. Not all of us are sleazy though.” He took Genevieve’s hand, lips brushing across her knuckles then glanced up through his lashes. “Even the lower class can have manners though.”

Her lips curled in a surprised smile, cheeks flushing as he drew back. “I can see that.”

“Ms. Cortese, let me introduce you to my associate, Ms. Sandra McCoy.”

Sandy stepped forward, shy smile in place. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cortese, I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

She held out her hand and Genevieve accepted, cautious gleam in dark eyes. “I wasn’t aware Jensen employed an associate.”

“I’ve been out of town—school.” Sandy offered. “I work during the summer for Mr. Ackles.”

Jensen nearly choked when Sandy called him that. Considering they were both about to set Beverly Hills on fire with controversy, he supposed she could have called him worse. “Ms. Cortese, I’m afraid we won’t be able to stay through dinner. Something has come up, but if we could talk somewhere private.”

“That is a shame. I was hoping you could impress my father with your professionalism not to mention your exquisite manners.” Her lashes lowered, eyes sparkling with something Jensen couldn’t put his finger on. “My family is in the study having drinks. Mother is out of town so it’s just Daddy, my brothers and sister. Anything you have to say you can say in front of them.”

“That’s fine.”

Genevieve moved across the foyer toward a huge sliding door, hips swaying beneath the silk sheath she wore. Jensen and Sandy followed a few feet behind. She didn’t seem to notice as they whispered among themselves, but then no one ever knew what the rich noticed if it didn’t involve them. He could see what Jared had saw in the Cortese girl. She was pretty, well educated and courteous. If he’d been looking for a beard she would have been perfect if he rolled in the wealthy circles Jared had with his work. It still didn’t make sense why he would need a beard though. Maybe it hadn’t been about that, but rather about finding his way back to acceptance with his father. What better way to do that than return to Texas with a wealthy wife on his arm. It didn’t matter though Jensen imagined. He doubted any of them would ever know Jared’s true motivations when it came to the woman in front of them.

Entering the study Jensen was amazed at the size. It was bigger than his office and apartment combined and decorated with the best and most expensive furnishings money could buy. Dark mahogany shelves covered two walls lined with leather bound volumes and a full bar done in the same mahogany covered another wall. The fourth wall was a row of floor to ceiling glass doors that opened out on an enormous stone patio and an oval swimming pool, surrounded by lush gardens. Gauzy curtains stirred in the evening breeze giving Jensen glimpses of the garden beyond, reminding him of ghosts writhing in the fading sunlight.

Behind the bar, a dark haired man poured drinks and when he looked up it was with a smile identical to Genevieve’s—that would be her twin brother Robert. Julian Cortese was easier to spot being the tallest in the room. At nearly seventy, he was an impressive man, once black hair now unblemished silver. A woman stood near him, laughter as elegant as her appearance, Isabella his oldest daughter, Jensen imagined. Another man stood looking out at the lush gardens the spit and image of Julian, Michael his oldest son without a doubt.

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Ackles. I must say considering your profession you are quite the dresser.” Julian eyed him up and down. “My daughter tells me you’ve discovered something about her deceased fiancé.”

“Yes, actually I have.”

“Well then let us all have a seat and you may enlighten us.”

Sarcasm flitted at the edge of Julian’s words and it pissed off Jensen to no end. Of course, he had no qualms about returning it in spades. “I think you might want to set for this one, Mr. Cortese. Getting excited couldn’t possibly be healthy for a man your age.”

Julian eyed him for a moment, the room going completely silent with enough tension to fuel a nuclear reactor and then he smiled. “Touché, Mr. Ackles, well done.”

A sigh of relief travelled through the room, those present relaxing enough Jensen knew he’d done as expected to earn Julian’s favor. It appeared despite his advanced age the patriarch of the Cortese family still ruled with an iron fist. If Jensen was right about the assumptions he’d made, it made sense Julian would have at the least an inkling of what happened that night in February. He doubted much happened under his roof the old man wasn’t aware of to be honest.

Once everyone had settled in, drinks in hand, Jensen cleared his throat. “Genevieve has told me any information I have may be revealed in front of her family so I’ll follow her wishes. Jared Padalecki is not dead.”

Everyone froze and the room became so quiet you could have heard a flea fart. Inside his head, Jensen counted to one hundred and then the silence ended in an explosion of voices. He let them go for the span of a heartbeat and then let out a sharp whistle.

“That’s impossible.” Michael spoke up. “The police declared it a suicide.”

“No body.” Jensen replied.

Robert spoke up next. “And how do you know he’s alive?”

“Because, I found him two weeks after he vanished. He’s been hiding him from the man who tried to kill him three months ago.” Sandy spoke up.

“Oh, my God,” Genevieve whispered as her sister Isabella wrapped an arm around her. “Why hasn’t he…Why didn’t he call?” tears gleamed in her eyes.

“He’s in a coma.” Jensen paced the floor waiting for the next bomb to drop. That bomb would drop hard with his next words. “He was out on that cliff to meet someone. You see Jared had a bit of a sordid past to say the least. I imagine you discovered much if not all of it, Julian.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “I was aware of the boy’s past, but the past is the past, Mr. Ackles.”

“Aware of what, Daddy? I don’t understand.” Genevieve demanded, tears running down her face. “Why would anyone want to kill, Jared?”

“Ask your father, Ms. Cortese.” Jensen glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he sipped his bourbon. “I’m sure you have no problems being honest with your daughter—do you?”

She turned on Julian. “Daddy, what is he talking about?”

Straightening his shoulders, anger flashed in Julian’s eyes. “I warned you about the boy. He had a past not appropriate to a woman of your station, Genevieve. I accepted him and did my best, but the boy was insufferable. He refused my help at every turn.”

Genevieve stood fists clenched and her face flushed in fury, “So, what? You tried to have him killed?”

“Dear God of course not, darling. You loved the boy and I would never hurt you in such a way.” Julian’s eyes widened at the anger he witnessed in his youngest daughter’s face. “I paid off a few intrepid blackmailers despite his protests. That was all, sweetheart. Jared couldn’t help where he came from or what he had to do to survive.”

“And what exactly was it Jared did, Daddy, that drew blackmailers?” she moved across the room on unsteady legs to face her father. “I’m not a child any longer. I can handle the truth no matter how bad.”

Sandy cleared her throat interrupting the confrontation. “Jared was forced into prostitution when he was a teenager.”

All the color drained from Genevieve’s face, “Prostitution? Jared was a…” her voice cracked as her legs gave out, her body crumpling to the floor. “No, it’s not…it can’t be.”

Isabella crossed the room and knelt next to the sister, pulling her close as the younger woman began to rock back and forth. She looked up with the same dark eyes her father possessed although instead of anger Jensen saw righteous indignation in them.

“Was it necessary to do this?” she demanded of Jensen. “My sister has been through so much already and now you’ve marred her memories of the man she loved.”

“My apologies for upsetting you, Ms. Cortese, but Genevieve came to me for the truth about her fiancé. Sometimes the truth isn’t what it seems though.” He glanced at Julian. “There was one blackmailer you didn’t pay off. I understand you were simply trying to protect your daughter, but even the best intentions can go awry. That man went after Jared directly rather than you, Julian, and he had damn good reason to.”

“And this was the man who tried to kill Jared?” Genevieve asked, voice quavering.

“Yes, it was. He knew Jared before he came to California. When he saw Jared with you, I guess he was horrified you were engaged to a former prostitute. One he’d visited numerous times when he attended college in Dallas.”

Every set of eyes turned to focus on Robert as the color drained from his face. “You’re insane, Ackles. I’m not gay and even if I were, I wouldn’t need the services of a prostitute. Look at me—I’m perfect.”

Genevieve’s eyes grew wide in shock. “Robert, please tell me he’s wrong. Tell me you didn’t have sex with Jared.”

“Don’t be absurd, Gen.” Robert sniffed. “Even if I were gay there are numerous men who would sell their left nut to be with me. I warned you about hiring this man.” His disdain was clear as his gaze settled on Jensen.

Jensen met his gaze head on without a flinch. “Sandy, give me the book.”

Sandy reached in the bag she carried and pulled out the ledger handing it to Jensen. He crossed the room to Julian and held it out, eyes focused on Robert. “Go ahead, Julian. Check out page 105 client name of David Starr.” He studied Julian’s pale face. “That’s what kind of monster you created, old man. You knew he wasn’t right—didn’t you?”

“Stop it right there, Ackles!”

He turned to see Robert, arm wrapped around Sandy’s waist, and a .45 pressed to her temple. This was going south far too fast for his tastes, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Robert?”

“I’m going to blow this bitch’s brains out if you don’t give me that book.”

“And then what are you going to do; murder your entire family and me as well, Robert? Hunt down Jared and finish the job the assassin you hired botched? That’s right I know you don’t have the balls to get your own hands dirty.”

“Fuck you, Ackles!” Robert snapped. “That sleazy little shit wasn’t good enough for my sister. My father knew that. You’ll give me the book, I’ll destroy the thing, and no one need be the wiser.”

“I’ll know.” Julian stood, book clenched in his fist. “Your siblings will know as well. This perversion of yours has gone on long enough. I only tolerated it for your mother’s sake; paying off cops and prostitutes to keep your ass out of jail. But this…” he shook the book at Robert. “This is too much. You’re sicker than I ever imagined…dear God forgive me. I should have had you locked up years ago.”

“Give me the fucking book, Dad!” he pressed the gun tighter to Sandy’s temple.

She met Jensen’s eyes across the room, smiled, and then started mouthing numbers, a countdown. When she reached three, she stomped on Robert’s foot with her stiletto heel. He let out a scream, released her, and she ducked and ran. Robert lifted the gun aiming for her, but he hadn’t counted on one thing.

“Robert!” Jensen yelled.

He turned gun coming up to aim, but before he could pull the trigger, Jensen pulled his gun firing with precision. The bullet slammed straight between Robert’s wide surprised eyes and exited out the back of his skull, blood, and brain matter splattering across the wall and furniture in a ghoulish swirl of scarlet and pink.

Behind him, Jensen could hear screams and exclamations of horror. It didn’t matter because he’d done what he needed to. Robert had just given him a legal excuse to do so instead of allowing his emotions to pull the trigger. The man had been a monster and what he’d done to Jared would give Jensen nightmares for the rest of his life. A creature like Robert Cortese should have never been born.

Jared was safe now even if he didn’t know it.

Turning away from the horrifying mess on the floor, Jensen pulled Sandy into his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You did good, girl.”

She smiled and glanced up at Jensen with huge wet eyes. “It’s over isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he glanced over his shoulder. “It’s definitely over."

Holding her close, Jensen turned and walked out of the room, gun dangling from his fingertips.


	18. Chapter 18

Three Months Later

 

Sand City was a nice little hole in the wall town with wide stretches of beach and cottages dotting the coastline. It was a place to escape to when the big city became too damn much to handle. Now it was Jensen’s home.

Jensen had left Los Angeles for Sand City two weeks after the death of Robert Cortese. It had taken that long to untangle the mess created by Cortese’s attempted murder for hire scheme of Jared Padalecki. Everything the DA needed to explain the cluster-fuck at the Cortese Estate was in the ledger Jared had left for Jensen to find. There was no talk of ghosts, crisis apparitions, or psychic connections. Hell, Jensen wasn’t even sure any of it had really happened now as he looked back on those few crazy days in the late spring.

He’d followed Sandy here to the cottage where Jared lay in a hospital bed facing the ocean, still and seemingly lifeless. The doctor came and went as did the nurses, but Jensen stayed refusing to leave the young man’s side who had changed his life. He slept in a room across the hall from Jared’s and prayed each night as he lay down to sleep someday Jared, his sleeping beauty as corny as it sounded, would wake. His friends back in Los Angeles understood why he’d left. Over the summer they’d all come to visit and get a glimpse of the young man he watched over. Even Collins had made the journey and that said a great deal about the man—another friend to add to the short list.

This morning, the doctor had come again to run the usual tests. He could never quite make himself sit through those visits so he was here on the beach walking lost in his thoughts and enjoying the view as much as he could. Above him, gulls swooped and dived across the constant movement of the ocean, the wet sand beneath his bare feet comforting in a way hard pavement never had been. Peace was hard to come by in this world, but this place was as close to it as he’d managed to find. 

As painful as it was to watch Jared, day in and day out, connected to those machines Jensen refused to give in to his doubts. He sat for hours reading to Jared and sometimes he would reach out and wrap his hand around the other man’s, close his eyes, and lose himself in the gentle pulse beneath his fingertips. The singular rhythm of Jared’s heartbeat gave him hope in ways he’d never imagined.

He was lost in thought, when a small familiar hand gripped his shoulder. Turning he looked into Sandy’s wide wet eyes and his heart skipped a beat.

“Sandy, what is it?”

She shook her head, tears trailing down her cheeks and when his gut started to bottom out—she smiled.

“You have to come.” She managed to choke out. “He’s awake. He’s finally awake.”

Nothing could have stopped Jensen when she spoke those words. Awake—Jared was awake after months of prayers he’d finally escaped from his eternal sleep. He took off running, bare feet leaving a trail of prints through the moist sand. The devil himself could have tried to stop him and Jensen would have fought him to the death. He didn’t even stop to wipe his feet, hurtling through the kitchen door and down the hall, breathe ragged and heart thundering in his chest like a flock of sea gulls.

When he reached the door to Jared’s room, he stopped dead in his tracks, scared for the first time—scared out of his mind.

What if Jared didn't recognize him after everything, He wondered?

Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Down at the end of the hall, he could hear Sandy enter the cottage. In front of him, the doctor stepped out of Jared’s room with a knowing smile. Steve Williams was a crusty old bastard, a man who’d seen a lot in his life—bad and good. The first time he’d laid eyes on Jensen he grinned and told him something he now repeated.

“You remember I told you if anyone could get through to him you could, boy. He’s waiting for you.”

Terrified Jensen walked past Williams and into the sunlit room. Jared was setting up in bed propped up with pillows watching the gulls ride along the air currents above the hypnotic beauty of the ocean beyond the window. The morning sun cast his profile in a luminous light making him seem ethereal in Jensen’s mind. As he stepped closer Jared turned, weak and pale, but those eyes—dear lord those eyes—were the ones he remembered from a long ago dream.

For a moment, they simply stared at one another and then Jensen closed the distance between them. It was now or never. Learn if he’d lost everything or gained the world. He reached out touching Jared’s sallow cheek and he smiled unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes. Just say it, he thought. Just say it and I’ll know.

Jared cleared his throat eyes never leaving Jensen’s face and offered a weak smile.

“Jensen.”

It was gruff, a raw painful sound. It was also the most beautiful thing Jensen had ever heard and the only thing he’d needed to hear. His heart beat quickened as he reached out, fingers caressing the top of Jared’s hand and their fingers tangling together. This had to be a dream, Jensen thought. After so long of a wait how could he deserve to be blessed with a miracle.

“Say it again, Jared.” He pleaded.

“Jensen.”

Leaning over the bed, he pressed his lips to Jared’s mouth, brows touching and he smiled. “I love you, Jared.”

“I know."

~Finis~


End file.
